The Shequalizer
by K. L. Gardner
Summary: Knowing the pain of a life destroyed by reprobates, Chef Caroline Barker believes it's her job to take down as many evil-doers in her little corner of the world as she can. Along with best-pal and employee Vito, she sets out to do just that, as her new catering business reminisces of murderous ancestors whose unique pie shop became the talk of London over a century ago.


_1_

_"Wish I had a gun."_

Caroline glared at the grubby paws assaulting Mom's open grave. Considering recent events, she could suppress her contempt no longer. Dead baby, embezzling husband, now dead mom—it was all part of a seeping, mushrooming hell that traced back more than 20 years, now just moments from critical mass.

_"What better place to ignite this thing than at a funeral?"_

As they lowered her best friend into the ground, she couldn't stop the flip book that ran through her head. Mom's cold body trapped in that box, decomposing to bone, hair, skull. Nothing but terrifying hollows where the eyes used to be. The only eyes that had ever looked back at her with unconditional love. Until, of course, those of Baby Grace. But none of it mattered now. They both were decomposing in caskets that eventually would decompose themselves, leaving nothing of her loved ones but dust and shadows.

_"Ashes to ashes," _she thought. She shook the horrible image from her head, only to have a horrible voice replace it.

"What's wrong?"

Peg. Caroline's last remaining high-school friend. How she'd hated high school. Margaret Alyssa Vitelli, a.k.a. Peg, had been along for the ride the entire time, watching as Caroline's fragmented life disintegrated. She was in the emergency room as the Barker-Doughertys mourned the demise of their precious daughter to crib death less than a year earlier. Peg was right there again as Caroline cried, worried, rejoiced, and cried some more while Mom went in and out of the hospital with some unknown illness that finally took her for good. And here she was, burying yet another Barker, and Peg had seen it all. That's what made the question so heartless.

Peg nudged her shoulder and repeated it, this time in a gruff, judgmental whisper. "Caroline, what's with you?"

As the priest finished praying and the mob of quasi mourners thinned, Caroline turned to Peg and threw her a WTF look. Without hesitation, she removed the brand new designer hat she'd purchased to hide beneath and handed it to the man standing next to Peg.

"Please?"

The man accepted, awaiting the lady's next move. Growling and gritting her teeth, Caroline stood firm, pulled back her right arm and lunged forward, thrusting her taut knuckles square into Peg's clueless face. She watched the bitch go down, then turned back to the astonished man, retrieving her hat.

"Obliged." With a gleeful grin, she restored the topper to her sleek French twist and followed the dispersing horde from the grave site.

As she walked away, Caroline heard a crack that sounded like the clean break of a thick, dry branch, followed by a bemoaning howl. Of course, it could also have been Peg's leg. She let out a guffaw as the words 'peg leg' flitted through her mind, then wondered if what she'd heard was the poor innocent branch or the fat guilty leg. Her question was swiftly answered.

"My ankle! I think it's broken!"

Her grief momentarily relieved, Caroline again removed her hat, this time tossing it into the air with a 'you're-gonna-make-it-after all' twirl (even though she doubted the sentiment). She then headed for her monster truck, the one Jerry said was too 'hillbilly' to take to Mom's funeral, hopped up into the cab and drove.

_2_

Caroline checked the clock on the dashboard. Ten minutes to four. The funeral had ended just before noon. That meant she'd been driving for hours. It also meant she had no idea where she was, so she figured it was time to check in someplace, clean up, grab a bite, and get some sleep. Turning back and going home was out of the question.

As she noted the fork-and-knife sign on the shoulder, she remembered what she'd just driven away from—all the folks at the restaurant who'd supported her decision to close down for the day, agreeing that by her side was where they belonged as she grieved Mom's passing. Though mad at herself for leaving and letting them down, she just couldn't go back to the house afterward and face all those people. She couldn't face Jerry, knowing he'd stolen thousands from her business, and after she'd worked so hard to build the most successful Michelin-3-star restaurant in town. She couldn't face Peg, who was really just residue from high school, a time in her life she'd rather forget. She couldn't face the gold diggers, standing by chomping at the bit for a piece of the estate. In fact, out of the five hundred or so people who'd shown up, there were only a handful Caroline could stand at all. The rest could go to hell.

_"No-tell Motel? Seriously?" _She chuckled at the moniker's candor and clicked on her right turn signal. "_As long as they have food and a bed, they can call it whatever the hell they want," _she thought,as she slid the giant vehicle into two parking spaces and turned off the again looked up at the motel's buzzing sign that was missing its letter 'M' and decided she'd rather slum it at a place where folks tell it like it is than spend one more day living in pretense. She'd met thousands of people in her life, some rich, some poor, most in the middle somewhere, and she'd come to the conclusion that it isn't money, or even the lack of it, that makes people jackasses. It's their personalities.

"How long ya stayin', little lady?"

From its run-down exterior to its dingy interior and now its frumpy, balding, middle-aged manager calling her 'little lady,' this place couldn't have been more stereotypical.

"Night. Week. No idea," she replied.

"I'll note that," the man answered, writing on a clipboard. "Tenant," he murmured, hawkering into a waste can.

"Tenant?" Caroline inquired, doing her best to keep her disgust to herself and her eyes off that waste can.

The man gave her a smile that showed dimples and unexpected warmth. "It's what we call folks what stay longer 'an a couple hours."

At this frank admission, Caroline cringed thinking this joint might just be a tad too real for her. She considered turning for home, then decided grungy was better than Jerry any day. She threw a fifty on the counter, grabbed the key, and thanked the man, who flashed his dimples again and thanked her sweetly in reply.

She headed back outside, looked at the key, and searched for her room. Eying left and right of the office, she thought, "_Six rooms on each side. That's twelve. Twelve rooms, twelve vacancies." _Caroline was in room one. Cabin one. Same cabin in which the fictional Marion Crane had succumbed. She looked around for a creepy house on a hill and listened for a psycho exclaiming, 'Mother … blood!' Not encountering either, she decided taking a shower in this joint might be okay after all.

_3_

_"I know him better than I know my own wife!"_

The words shook Caroline awake. The nightmare. Same one that had haunted her for decades. It took a few seconds for her to realize where she was; then she remembered it all. Mom's death. The funeral. Driving for hours. The Bates Motel. The punch. Ah, yes, the punch. She saw it as the one bright spot in an otherwise dreadful day. She had been on the receiving end of more than her share of betrayal, but this was the first time she'd taken revenge. "_Good feeling."_

She rolled over and got an instant rush of soft light shining through the cheap blinds she'd been too worn out to bother closing. This was Caroline's favorite time of day. The light took with it all the truths she couldn't face, but darkness hadn't quite closed in yet. In these few daily minutes, there was nothing to fear. She reveled in that feeling. "_Wow,_ _two good feelings in one day."_ She decided she might like this place, grunge and all. "_Could be possibilities here."_

With a spot of newfound vigor, she hopped in the shower and chuckled, kidding herself about what she'd do if the night manager suddenly burst in brandishing a knife. Just like so many other bad thoughts she had these days, Caroline washed them out of her hair like actress Mary Martin would do. A lifelong fan of Broadway musicals, she belted out a tune, hoping to lift her mood. Tonight it was from 'Sweeney Todd,' a tale of a vengeful barber whose unfortunate clients receive exceptionally close shaves.

"Green finch and linnet bird, nightingale, blackbird, teach me how to sing. If I cannot fly, let me sing."

It didn't help, so she switched to another song from the same show.

"There's a hole in the world like a great black pit, and the vermin of the world inhabit it, and its morals aren't worth what a pig could spit."

After making herself presentable, which for Caroline meant stunning regardless of clothes or makeup, she stepped out the door of cabin one and instantly noticed the blinking sign across the way. "_The Rusty Nail?" _She laughed, wondering how many more clichés this town had in store. "_Scotch and soda would be heavenly right now."_ Out of the question, of course, but it looked like they might serve food, so she headed toward the sign.

"Hey, little lady, what can I get you?" inquired a deep voice from the other end of the bar.

_"There's that awful 'little lady' thing again. What is it with this backward town?" _Caroline turned to glare at the bartender, but noticed something about him and decided against it._ "Wow, look at him. He looks like an actor."_

Not classically, but handsome by the standards of most. Strong jaw. Maybe 10 years her senior. She wasn't a fan of mustaches, but it worked for him. He had a masculinity that's rare these days, especially in her metro world. But there was something else. A magnetic, understated power. She noted a deep-down twinge she hadn't felt in years, but quickly dismissed it as a monthly thing and sat at the bar, as always, choosing not to make eye contact with other patrons.

"Cheeseburger, hot peppers, root beer," she ordered, softly chuckling at the red plastic cup she saw him grab from under the bar.

"Root beer?" he replied, tipping the cup as though pouring high-end champagne into crystal.

"Too sophisticated for this town?"

The sensual man with the deep voice, rugged beard, and piercing blue eyes gave her a friendly smirk. "Just happens to be my favorite." He lifted his own cup and placed it in front of her nose. "Smell that." It was root beer, all right. He clinked his cup to hers, adding, "'Cept in 'ese parts, we backwoods folk calls it sarsaparilla."

This was the first time she'd laughed in days. And, after that hearty laugh, she took in a huge breath and let it out, as though she hadn't breathed in days either. The waitress placed the burger on the bar and Caroline ravaged it, feeling the man's eyes on her as she ate. "So, is it really your favorite?" she asked, over a mouthful of meat.

"After Jose Cuervo," he winked, "and all his kinfolk_._"

Now the root beer made sense to her. She took another huge bite, chewed until she could speak clearly this time, and said, "Something else we have in common."

"You too?" the man asked, chugging an imaginary shot glass.

"Yup," Caroline matter-of-factly answered. "In recovery now for about 20 years." She backhanded her mouth clean, pushed the rest of the burger aside, and gulped root beer like it was a smooth shot of Jack Daniels. "You?"

"Little longer." He winked again. "Or shorter."

Again Caroline got his meaning, this one about periodic dips off the wagon. "Heard that," she replied, glancing around at customers and throwing a dirty look to a table-full of half-drunks drooling over the hot new patron who was gulping soda like shots.

"My shift is over," the bartender said, "Care to sit with me while I eat my dinner?" He pointed his chin in the direction of the droolers. "I know those fools. They're harmless anyway, but if they think you're with me, they'll leave you alone."

She breathed breathlessly and ran her fingers along her neck. "So how do I know you're harmless?"

The man threw back his head and laughed. "Well, you don't. But I am. Anyone in this town'll tell you I'm boy-scout to a fault."

Experiencing more of that twinge, Caroline found herself doing something she hadn't in years … flirting. "How can I say no to a guy who wears the same cologne my daddy did?" She followed him as he directed her to his favorite table near the bar.

The man threw back his head with another quick laugh and answered, "Very possible. I've had this bottle since 1979." He called to the waitress to bring a pitcher of root beer and grabbed a plate of hot appetizers that had been cooling since Caroline walked in. He set his plate on the table and pulled out a chair.

"Wow," Caroline reflected, as she placed her small, round behind in the chair. "I haven't had a man pull out my chair for me for … well … yes … never. I've never had a man do that for me."

The bartender sat across from her and threw out a puzzled stare. With as much boy-scout as he could muster, he assessed her exaggerated beauty and sighed. "A snowy dove like you," he tossed his eyes about the bar, "trooping with crows?"

Caroline's heart pitched. "Romeo and Juliet?" She gave the joint a twice-over and shook out a head full of shock. "Did you seriously just quote Shakespeare?"

The man waved his palm to her. "Sheee-ooooot, was 'at Shakespeare?" He thumbed behind him. "I read it on the terlet wall. Hed no i-deee-er."

The dove threw up her wings. "Okay, I get it. People in small towns can be just as intelligent as anyone else … I guess." She laughed, kicking at an unoccupied chair and setting her feet up on it. "You've made your point, Romeo."

"Oh, I don't go by Romeo anymore," he chuckled, holding out the plate of appetizers to her. "Name's Theodore Jefferson Morrison the Third."

Caroline popped a deep-fried hot pepper in her mouth and chased it with a shot of root beer. "Pretty hoity toity … for backwoods folk."

The bartender smiled. "Teddy to my friends. And you are?"

"Caroline."

"You're kidding?" Ted replied.

"Why? What's wrong with that?" she snapped, wondering what the hell was up and if this guy was about to demonstrate what jerks men can be.

"My all-time favorite song," he pacified.

"Seriously?" she said, slapping her hand on the table. "Jefferson Air-, no, Starship, right?" She hummed and searched for words.

"You always fill my heart with wonder," Ted sang in a breathy baritone. "You always fill my soul with love."

Remembering now, Caroline accompanied, "You always fill my lips with kisses. You always fill my eyes with tears."

They sang together, "Cry, Caroline."

"Wow, " she mused. "I haven't thought of that song in years. We used to play it over and over in college, passing around a joint and-"

"Don't tell me, " Ted interrupted, "drinking cheap liquor!"

They laughed and then smiled at each other for a time until Caroline had to put a stop to it. "So where are you from, originally?"

"Little town known as Winterset, Iowa."

"Wait a minute," she examined. "Winterset? Morrison?"

"You're kidding! I am impressed. And, yes," Ted crowed, "the Duke and I really are related. Distant, uh, something."

"You serious?" He nodded, as Caroline gulped the last of her root beer, crunched the plastic cup in her hand, and drawled, "I mean to kill you in one minute. Or see you hanged in Fort Smith at Judge Parker's convenience. Which'll it be?"

"True Grit!" Ted blurted, wondering where this sirene had been all his life.

"My favorite movie," she informed.

"Definitely one of the all-time greats," he recognized, stroking his mustache. "Think I'm a bit more partial to 'The Cowboys.'"

Caroline laid her head back, closed her eyes, and pointed her finger, excerpting, "I'm 30 years older 'n you. I hed ma back broke once and ma hip twice-"

"And on my worst day," Ted joined her, "I can still beat the hell outta you!" Their laughter reached a peak, as their thoughts became one.

Doing her best not to stare into those enticing blue eyes, Caroline wondered what in the world she and her wedding vows were going to do with this fiercely masculine Shakespeare-quoting boy-scout who loved John Wayne flicks and rescued her from half-drunk barflies. She crunched her toes inside her pumps, intentionally repositioned herself in her chair a few times, and thought, "_If I find out I have one more thing in common with this man, I might just do him right here on the table."_

Unable to boy-scout for one more second, Ted reached out his hand, lightly brushed her naked forearm, then swiftly drew it back.

Caroline stopped herself from licking her lips and squinted, inhaling careful reflection. Finally, she probed, "So, if you don't mind me asking, how did you go from Theodore Jefferson Morrison the Third, distant um something to the Duke himself, to, well-"

"Serving root beer to alcoholic riffraff?"

With a sideways grin and glare, she concurred, "Pretty much."

"Luck?"

The pair laughed and talked for another hour before the waitress came back around and patted Ted's shoulder. "Last call, luv," she said, with an accent that reminded Caroline of more Shakespeare.

"Thanks, D," Ted answered. He sent a shut-eyed smile in Caroline's direction, freeing a barely audible moan. "Guess we should call it a night, huh?"

Caroline knew explicitly what she wanted, and calling it a night wasn't even close. Of course, here was yet another thing that was out of the question. Regardless of her husband's moral bankruptcy, she refused to stoop to his level, twinge or no twinge. She was sure, however, that she didn't want the night to end. Turning to the window and pointing to cabin one, she said, "I'm staying right over there."

Ted gently ran his fingertips over her soft left hand. "You know, I meant it when I said I'm boy-scout."

Caroline shook her head. "No, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean we should … or we would … I just meant … it's just that-"

_"Shut up, Caroline."_ She couldn't remember the last time she had opened up this much to anyone. Yes, she could. It was Mom. She thought of how, when father-and-son Vincent-Price-look-alikes lowered her mother into that grave, she feared she'd never again have another trusted friend. And yet, here she was, just a few hours later … "_This night can't end yet."_

"I just meant … I like talking with you."

Theodore Morrison, Teddy to his friends, curved his hand and softly stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, again quickly pulling back. "I just happened to have earned one of my badges in talking."

_4_

Caroline settled into the mattress and turned her music player to the musical she'd been singing in the shower. She wondered how much room on the bed to leave for her new friend. Or if she should leave him any room at all. "You like Broadway show tunes, too?"

"If you repeat that," Ted warned, "I will vehemently deny it, especially if my father's in the room."

Caroline watched the scout settle on the floor next to her bed and silently wished he'd slide inside her covers. "I take it your father's not exactly the open-minded type?"

"In high school, I lettered in football. In undergrad, I was star quarterback. I'm a Harvard MBA. But if Dad ever found out I know all the words to 'My Fair Lady,' his last action on Earth, right before his coronary, that is, would be something akin to a hate crime."

The night's laughter was a shocker, for sure, considering the events of the day. However, at the thought of 'last actions on Earth,' Caroline's laughter froze, as she again pictured Mom in her coffin. It was a horrific thought that had been flitting before her eyes all day. She changed the subject to rid her mind of it, feeling an attempt at seduction her best defense. She leaned in and whispered, "So what other talents do you have?"

As Ted saw his best defense a diversion of same seduction, he murmured, "I can pick any lock in 30 seconds flat."

Frustrated yet nonetheless entertained, Caroline laughed. "No kidding?" Still trying, she added, "I'm not wearing a chastity belt, so what's your point?" Realizing by his expression this was going nowhere, she again changed the subject. She lowered her head and treaded lightly. "So, you're a Harvard MBA. I really don't mean to insult you, but I have to ask. How did you end up tending bar?"

"Oh, but you don't understand. It's not just tending bar." He waved his hands up and around. "I'm actually the general manager of this entire establishment," he moved close to her face and whispered, "the No-Tell Otel." Seeing she wasn't as amused as he'd hoped, he cleared his throat and sighed, "What can I say? It was a long, hard climb up the ladder … and a short fall back down."

Readying herself to listen to the life story of a stranger she feared she was falling in love with, Caroline turned over on her stomach, pulled the comforter to mid-back, and kicked up her legs like a schoolgirl. She touched his arm and kept her hand right where it landed. As she stared into those piercing blue eyes, Ted hugged the edge of the bed just beyond her body and spilled his secrets.

_5_

Gertrude Leann Morrison gently rested her head on her husband's shoulder. She sighed, thinking her life couldn't get happier. Her husband's thoughts matched those of his wife.

"Thank you," she said, stroking his arm softly so as not to disturb his driving. "That was just what I needed."

"I think I know what you may need," Ted Morrison winked, attempting to seal his fate for later that night. The couple's ten-year anniversary party had taken him months to plan, working out every detail to precision. The only problem had been getting Mom to tear herself away from their newborn. Three months was long enough, he felt, to be Ma-ma 24/7 with no breaks.

Trudy moved closer to her husband and nibbled his ear. "You always know what I need," she whispered.

"Careful, hon." Ted gently nudged her arm from his.

"Why'd you push me away?"

"I'm driving, Tru. You know it's not personal." He softened his tone, "So, you had a good time then?"

"It was wonderful," she answered. "You outdid yourself. You're going to be very happy when I get you home." She stretched back over and nibbled his ear just a bit more. "Sorry. Couldn't resist. I'll be good."

"Don't be too good," he answered, winking in her direction. She softly kissed her husband's whiskered face and squinted at the high beams shining from behind. "What's 'at jackass's problem?" Ted blurted, unfolding his visor.

"Try slowing down. Maybe he'll pass."

Ted lifted his foot, and the car behind slowed as well. "I gotta get away from this idiot." He tapped the gas, sped up, then tapped it a little more. The idiot was unseen in his rearview mirror. "Now, where were we?"

"You were showing me how much you love me, " Trudy said. She moved her body close to her husband's and ran her fingers under layers of coat, jacket, and shirt.

Eyes forward, he felt for her hand, pulled it to his mustache, and touched his lips to her soft palm.

"I wonder if Theo's asleep yet," she muttered.

He sighed and gave her a warm, squinty smile. "I'm making love to you and you're still thinking—dammit!" High beams again blinded them. Ted felt his seat jolt forward, then back, then forward again. He felt his wife grab at his arm, as the steering wheel jerked and leaped from his hands. Everything went black. Then, suddenly, more blinding light.

"Sedate him."

As the lights dimmed, blue and white attacked Ted's eyes. He lifted from his torso, but nothing moved. A fierce pain shot through his head, as he felt a panic of arms pushing and pulling at him.

"Where's my wife?!"

_6_

Caroline watched her tears drop onto the blanket. "Ted, no. No." She saw no tears in his eyes. She set her head on his shoulder and felt her wet cheek moisten his shirt. She breathed next to his ear, "Drunk driver?"

"What else."

_7_

"It was just like you see on court TV. Standing room only." Ted stared into a wall, barely recognizable to Caroline as the man who'd spent the entire evening making her smile. His eyes scanned the court room. "Their side over there. Our side over here. Reporters. Sketch artists. Bystanders who saw it as a fun way to spend an afternoon." He made a sudden jerking move. "Gavel came down. Guilty. Manslaughter. Time served."

"What?!" Caroline jumped out of her blanket. "What do you mean?!"

"He was out. Got five years' probation. Did ten months waiting to go to trial. Never went back in."

Caroline felt her face heat up. "Ten months?" She nearly stood in the bed, as if at a podium. "For killing your wife! Where's the justice?!" Corner of her eye, she saw Ted lay his face on the bed like a weary pup. In her near-frenzied rage, she doubted she could calm herself. Feeling the unfathomable injustice close in on her, she looked away from him to revel in her anger still more. She clenched every muscle she could reach in her body and gritted her teeth. She whimpered, unable to stop her mouth from pouting. "_Ten months!"_ she thought. "_So that's the measure of the life of this wonderful man's wife, mother of his baby?"_ Fancying herself an equalizer of sorts, she imagined avenging his torment, but then forced herself to look at him again. She laid down her anger long enough to focus on the subject of the story. She sat down on the bed and, Jerry be damned, put her arm around Ted's neck and held her face to his. He looked in her eyes, still numb, still no tears. "Ted. Teddy. Why do I feel like that's not the end of the story?"

He closed his eyes, breathed in hard, and let it out in a puff. "Because you're a very insightful woman."

Caroline didn't know if she could listen to his pain anymore. She felt it. With each word, with every sigh, she felt the agony he was still experiencing all these years later. It was almost too painful for her, but she wanted so deeply to ease his anguish. She thought, "_How can I change the subject?" _There was no way. "_He needs this, or he wouldn't be telling me." _She decided to be silent and let him continue when he was ready.

"I saw him two weeks later at a grocery store. He was buying apples. Apples. He was laughing. Was with his girlfriend, just standing there picking out apples and laughing. The man who'd murdered my wife, stolen my son's mother, stolen our lives. I just stood there, looking at him, thinking, 'My son will never know his mother because of you.'" Caroline hoped he was about to reveal how he got his revenge. "You know, I don't even remember leaving my cart. All I remember is running. Just running. Like … like," he snapped his fingers, "what's that movie?"

Caroline knew the scene he was talking about. Classic 1950 film noir following the ill-fated Frank Bigelow's probe into his own murder via poison that sealed his demise in just days. "D.O.A."

He took her hand. "That's it. D.O.A. Like somebody told me I'd just been murdered, I ran." He chuckled awkwardly. "I ran so far, I made it all the way home, almost a mile. I left my car at the store. Had to go back for it later."

"So you-"

"I saw him again the very next night. At a bar. The SOB was at a bar. He was drunk. Drunk again. Ten months locked up, dead wife and mother didn't teach the piece of trash anything. I didn't run this time. I walked up to him, didn't say a word. Didn't have to. He looked at me, one second, saw it coming. I punched him."

"Yes!" Letting go of his hand, Caroline sprang up in her bed. "At least you got in one punch."

Ted's eyes hit the floor. "In the legal field, they call it the one-punch homicide." Caroline froze, then felt her knees buckle. She knelt on the bed and stared at him, as he again laid his head on the bed's edge, this time looking up to God. "Standing room only. Gavel came down. Guilty. Voluntary manslaughter. 10 years. I did six." Caroline watched Ted's tears drop onto the blanket. "First six years of my boy's life."

_8_

"I need a drink." As always, Ted forced himself to swallow the pain, if only to stop Caroline from being sad. He didn't know much about her, but one thing he was already sure of … he never wanted to see her sad.

"Scotch and soda, please," Caroline sniffled. She wiped her nose with the blanket and giggled. "Sorry. That's gross."

"You'd be surprised what we've found on those blankets," he said.

"Yuck. Please don't tell me." She gave the blanket a once-over. "No, tell me. Is it bad? How bad?" She nudged his shoulder to spill it, but as soon as the thought of filth entered her head, she remembered Jerry—being married to Jerry, sleeping next to Jerry, going home to Jerry. She gave the blanket a second look, cast it a who-gives-a-damn, and climbed back under, this time pulling it up to her shoulders. Now lying on her back, she hung her head over the edge of the bed and stared up at her new favorite person.

"You said you like that show Forensic Files," Ted said. "I think they've filmed about a dozen episodes of that show," he pointed, "right on those blankets." Motioning for her to move closer, which she did happily, he whispered, "The Luminol loves 'em."

"Ewww, that is disgusting!" she shrieked, jerking away. Their laughter filled the room.

"Why do you think I'm sitting on the floor?" he added.

Caroline licked her lips and gazed up at him. Freeing it from under her neck, she Rapunzeled her hair over the bed. "And here I thought you were so wildly captivated with me that you didn't want to be tempted to ravage the married woman. Some Romeo you turned out to be."

Moaning, Ted stared down at the beauty, then slowly moved his eyes over the bed, imagining the bliss that lay under that grungy blanket and fixating on the word 'ravage.' "Ha. Never crossed my mind."

Surprised by this admission, she picked up her head and rolled over to look at him squarely. She noted the smirk on his face that revealed sarcasm and the warmth in his pupils that revealed desire. "_He's falling too,"_ she thought. She ran her tongue over her open lips with animation. "_What would he do if I got naked right now? What's he gonna do? Say no? Walk out?"_ She pulled the blanket all the way up to her neck and considered disrobing underneath it, without his knowledge of her subterfuge. "_Then_," she thought, "_I'll throw off the covers, and he can have his way with me … and I with him."_

But there was one thing trumping their bodies writhing in mutual rapture. That statement. "_I'm boy-scout to a fault." _She had never known a man so honorable. He was protecting her honor, and she wanted to protect that. "_Mom would love this guy,"_ she thought. "_Time to change the subject, girlie."_

"I hate people."

Caroline was thrilled to see Ted throw back his head in laughter again, like he'd done before she made him tell his tragic story. "Where'd that come from?"

"Years of practice."

"You practice hating people?"

"Practice makes perfect, right?"

Ted's laugh was hearty, manly, and authentic. "You don't mean that."

"Oh, but I do." She sat up on the bed again, rolled back onto her stomach, and hugged a body pillow. "I'm sick to death of evil people ruining good peoples' lives."

"We're all sinners, Caroline."

"Yeah, but some are so much better at it than others."

Ted winced as he watched sadness overtake her lovely face. He knew of only one thing that could fill such a beauty with such anger. "You've been through some stuff too, haven't you, Beautiful?"

Caroline couldn't believe she'd finally found someone other than Mom who saw past her beauty to the real person, with needs, with struggles, with pain.

"My uncle raped me at my 13th birthday party."

_9_

It couldn't have been more perfect. Three hundred guests. Three hundred of her closest friends. Funny when it's put that way, but this little girl was as popular as they come. All the kids in her class wanted to be there and, as always, not wanting to hurt any of their feelings, she'd convinced Daddy to let her invite them all. But that was only the half of it. Family, extended family, even a mini-media blitz. After all, Benjamin Franklin Barker was one of the most powerful men in the county, and there would be a caucus of influential people at the Barker house that day; there had to be a publicity showing.

Caroline Anastazia Barker was the apple of her daddy's eye. She could do no wrong where he was concerned, and she made sure she didn't. Well, most of the time. Those wee little childhood indiscretions didn't count for much, especially in the eyes of a doting daddy. A tantrum here and there. A couple of lies. There was even that day she'd played hooky from school. None of it mattered, though. Not since the day she was born. Not since the moment he had first laid eyes on her tiny, perfect little face.

And here it was, 13 years later, nearly down to the minute. The proud father rushed home from his weekly Saturday morning meeting. He'd even cut it short, which would have been out of the question under any other circumstances. This, however, was his only daughter's birthday, and he never missed being there the minute she was born. Not only that. It was her 13th. In some cultures, it's the age a girl passes from childhood into young womanhood. Of course, Frank Barker would have none of that. She was Baby Annie, and Baby Annie she must stay.

Frank knew his little girl hadn't been herself for the past few weeks, so he decided going all-out would be just what she'd need to bring her back to her old self. If the term 'spare no expense' had an epiphany, this was it. From the VIP guest list and first-class caterer, to the extravagant carnival and horseback rides, Baby Annie's 13th birthday would be the event everyone talked about. And so they did.

Truth be told, all was not perfect, but good enough was all Frank and Grace Barker were hoping for today, considering how their daughter had been behaving recently. Uncle Harry was a little late, but Frank knew he would be. Not his real brother, Harrison Bertram Marr was better than a brother to Frank. They'd known each other since they were in diapers, had gone to school together, roomed together in college, and built a successful winery that rivaled even some of the finest in France. Harrison Marr was an accomplished businessman, painter, golfer, hunter. More importantly, though he wasn't a blood relative, to Annie, Harrison Marr was Uncle Harry, her favorite person, the only person she allowed to call her 'Anastazia.' There was simply no cutting the cake until Uncle Harry arrived.

With the birthday girl a bit out of sorts, the day was going better than anticipated. The guests were happy; the food was perfection; the cameras were on. At last, Uncle Harry was there. And Annie was mingling. Until she wasn't.

Nowhere to be found when it was time to cut the cake, Mom had searched the entire house, every secret nook she knew her daughter loved hiding in. They had no choice; the worried parents turned the birthday party into a search party. TV cameras followed the searchers from the house and its 18 rooms, to the perimeters of the estate, even to the woods beyond the street. And the whole thing not only had been caught on tape, but shown at 6 to the entire county.

It was Frank and Uncle Harry who'd finally found her, huddled under a tree in those woods. Her clothes disheveled, her hair a wretched mess, her face strewn with dirty tears.

"Annie, sweetheart, where've you been?! We were so worried about you! Thank God you're all right!" Frank Barker reached out to scoop Baby Annie up into his arms just as he'd done 13 years earlier, but she screamed bloody terror, kicked him, and ran.

Frank and Uncle Harry pursued, cameras at their backs. As all caught up to her, the birthday girl shrieked, "Get that sick bastard away from me or I'll kill him!"

_10_

"My father went on a business trip the next day—on a Sunday. He was gone for six weeks. He'd never been gone that long before. When he got back, nothing was ever the same between us. He never called me Annie ever again. I was Caroline from then on." She curled up tighter and silently sobbed.

With nothing but boy-scout on his mind, Ted climbed onto the bed and held her shaking body. "Why would he do that, Beautiful? Why?"

"Cameras were rolling. Everyone heard it all. How Harrison Marr had been touching me for the past month. As soon as he found out I got my period, that was when it started."

Her story stopped. She lay still for a time, humming. She added words. "Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful of rye. Four and twenty … four and …" Ted watched Caroline's eyes glaze over, as her words trailed off. "He sang that to me from the time I was wee little. He bought me a white lacey dress for my fifth birthday. He'd sit me on his lap and call me 'lovely girl.' He would sing that creepy song. 'Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful of rye, four and twenty … baked in a pie.'"

She opened her eyes and stared, unblinking, unbreathing, for what seemed to Ted like minutes until she finally spoke again. "That dress. He bought me the same exact one. Had it made just like it to fit me all those years later. My dad made me wear it to that party." She covered her body tightly with the dingy blankets and rolled over, twitching and quivering. "That day at my party, I went up to my bedroom to get something. He followed me, locked the door, blocked it. He said, 'I've been waiting for you to become a woman.' He … unzipped and ... he-"

Ted kissed her. He didn't want her to continue. Not only because he knew she couldn't say it, but because he couldn't hear it. One thing he was already sure of … he never wanted to see her sad. It was a tender kiss, like they did in old movies. Nothing sexual. An expression of caring for a second or two and it was completed. He touched his mustache to her forehead, gently stroked her moist raven tresses, and delicately brushed her face with his.

"You're a liar."

Ted pulled his head back to look into her eyes. "What? Why'd you say that?"

"Oh my gosh, that's it. That's what he said, in front of everyone, when I told my father what his best friend had done to me. 'I know him better than I know my own wife, you're a liar.' I blocked it out all these years." Caroline wiped her face on Ted's shirt and pulled herself up. "My daddy and I were inseparable … until that day. My 13th birthday party. He didn't even come to my wedding." She lay down, turned her back to Ted, and pulled his effective arms tight around her waist. "He never forgave me for not being Baby Annie anymore."

_11_

It was the sound of no-tell headboards banging against walls that awakened them. Listening longingly to the early-morning exhibition and conjecturing impossible possibilities, Caroline felt for Ted's body, which she found lying clothed above the covers. She shut her eyes, exhaled, opened them again and whispered in his ear, "I hate the Boy Scouts of America."

He chuckled and brushed her lips with his fingertip. "I do too sometimes." Then, recalling his promise to his son, he vaulted off the bed, jerking it against the wall.

"Mmmm," she murmured, "do that a couple more times. It'll make me feel like we did something naughty in this bed together."

Ted laughed and changed the subject. "I gotta go pick up Chip and Timmy. How 'bout you let me buy you breakfast, Beautiful?" He sat down on the edge of the bed and forced on sneakers. "There's a diner not far from here that serves incredible chocolate-chip pancakes." He recalled Caroline's occupation. "Well, maybe not as good as a Paris-trained chef could do, but you'll love 'em, I promise."

Finally relenting the idea of getting Ted to ravage her, Caroline made sure her denim everything was buttoned and zipped before uncovering grungy blankets. "Sounds good. I feel like I need to indulge in something this weekend, even if it's not the thing I'm dying to indulge in." She rushed Ted from behind and licked his face.

Pleasantly startled, he joked, "I'll never wash this side of my face again." He stopped her from escaping, pulled her close, and whispered, "For the record, Beautiful, I'm dying to indulge in you."

Caroline let out a long, loud groan. "I guess there'll be plenty of hot water left in this place when we leave here this morning, huh?"

The pair sat at breakfast, divulging even more secrets and feeling just as comfortable with each other as they had through the night. Caroline talked of Mom, Baby Grace, her pup. Ted talked of Chip and how much he missed him since he and his best bud, Tim, had been away.

When he drove her back to the motel, Ted took Caroline's hand and they walked to her monster truck. Gently pushing her against it, he enveloped her body with his. "Stay. Please. Don't go back there, Beautiful. There's nothing there for you anymore."

"What do you mean, stay?" She was thrilled to hear him ask the question again, but she had to be sure he meant it. He'd said it a couple times the night before, but she was more than wise to the fact that men's minds often change in the light of morning, regardless of what did … or didn't … happen. There was no way of knowing yet what would become of Ted and Caroline, but she yearned to find out.

"I mean stay here with me. With us. Chip will love you. And you'll love him." Fearing he may have overplayed his hand, he dropped his eyes to the pavement and restrategized. "Look. I'm not saying marry me or even date me, if you don't want. I know you're just coming off something else. What I'm saying is, let's see this through."

"To the end?" Caroline's inner pessimist concluded.

"There doesn't always have to be an end, does there?"

She wanted it to be real, and momentarily considered forgetting everything back home and staying with him, but then remembered Bobby. "I have to go back for my puppy dog."

Ted chuckled. "Oh, yeah. Bobby Barker. You can't leave your little boy back there."

"I also have to get things in order, Teddy. Plus, I can't wait to see the look in Jerry's eyes when I throw those divorce papers at his wrinkled face."

Ted threw back his head and let out that laugh Caroline had recently placed on her list of favorite things. "You better be back here soon, or I swear I'll come looking for you. I mean it."

She pulled her body in as close as she could get it to Ted's, hoping to feel enough motivation to return. She breathed in his ear, "I don't guess people's hearts got anything to do with a calendar." Ted nuzzled her neck at the 'Hondo' reference and she kissed him, this time not holding back any of the passion she'd built up over their many hours of intimate conversation. After creating a scant exhibition of her own, she reluctantly removed her arms from around his neck, then removed his arms from around her waist. She hopped up into the cab, shut the door, and powered down the window.

Ted's face dripped with tears at the possibility of losing another love, however brief. "Should I run alongside, like in an old movie?"

Tasting her tears, Caroline smiled and revved up the engine. "I can't wait to be with you." Before backing out, she licked her lips and winked, "Hey boy-scout, be prepared."

_12_

_"Damn light. Damn birds. Damn sunrise."_

Caroline turned her divulged rump to the morning like it was a low-down, cheating ex. How she hated morning, with its singing nature, sunny disposition, and truth serum. Hearing Jerry's screeching voice, she kicked the blankets into a mad frenzy at his side of the bed. "_Wishing you were here, jackass,"_ she thought, as she left-hooked a crater in his pillow smack where his drooling face would be.

"Made you breakfast, Care Bear!"

She could barely make out his squeaky, girlish intonations calling to her from beneath. "_What the hell's that fool caterwauling about? Sounds like a damned dolphin."_ Since that blissful night she'd spent cuddling up to Ted's breathy baritones, Jerry's voice sounded like a 60s girl group chirping out a one-hit wonder. She recalled an old '70s movie that pitted talking dolphins against institutional bad guys. "_Fa love Pa. Faaaaa love Paaaaa." _She let out a robust laugh, picturing Jerry's round face on a parroting fish.

_"Please, God, no. No."_ She could hear his clunking footsteps getting closer.

"Whatcha laughing at, hon? You talking to somebody up here?"

"No, hon." She returned his shrillness with as much sweet Caroline as she could choke up. Divorce was a given at this point, but she didn't want to shoot her wad just yet. "Be down in a minute, Jerr Bear," she coughed, retching pretense into a tissue.

After showering, Caroline emerged at breakfast just as she did every morning, a stunning vision of durable femininity that outdid, as Ted had quoted, all trooping crows encircling her. And though their love had died long ago, Jerry still felt a stiff jolt every time he laid eyes on the snowy dove.

"You look so beautiful, Carrie."

"Don't call me that … hon," she returned, wondering how much longer she could continue this farce. "What's this?" she probed, staring at a glistening pitcher filled with an icy beverage. "Iced tea? For breakfast?"

"I was thirsty for it. Have some. Best I've ever made." He picked up his glass and gulped, "Yummmm. Hey, you drink hot tea in the morning, why not iced?"

"Just seems wrong," she grumbled.

"And you call yourself a free spirit."

Caroline laughed and rolled her eyes. "No. I'd never do that. Never happened."

"You know what I mean." He kissed her cheek, carefully topped off her glass, and pushed the pancakes closer.

She stared at the glob of half-baked batter on the plate and wondered how in the hell a gourmet chef could have married such a lousy cook. "Uh, I'm not hungry. I'll grab some-"

"At least drink your tea." He lifted the pitcher against the sun. "See, I ground up all your morning vitamins in it. Good for you."

Caroline considered grabbing that damned pitcher out of Jerry's greedy meat-hooks and cleaning the dude's clock with it, but then remembered Ted's advice. _"Get away from him and rebuild your life, Beautiful. If you still feel like you need revenge, you know what they say … it's a dish best served cold."_ It was obvious Ted was just trying to keep her from doing something rash—something like the 'one-punch homicide.' But, boy, how she wanted to one-punch that conniving bastard right between his beady eyes.

Jerry sat anxiously next to his wife of a dozen years and held a fork for her to begin eating, just as the grandfather in the foyer chimed 9 a.m. Itching to get to her attorney, Caroline threw down the napkin and stood. "Gotta go."

"Wait!" On her heels, Jerry carried the glass and attempted to persuade. "At least have your tea. You know you can't ever start your day before you get your vitamins in you, Care Bear."

"I'm late … Jerr Bear," she gagged.

"I've had it!" he screamed. "I'm done trying to love you!" He threw the glass of tea, and they both watched it crash against the wall and spill to the floor.

Ever the dogged puppy, Bobby saw it as an opportunity. He ran to the spill and began slurping, but Caroline snatched him up. "Look at all this glass! You could have killed my baby boy!" She headed for the foyer, more ready than ever to get the hell out of Jerryville. Remembering her deal with Ted to keep the peace until she got her ducks in a row, she turned back to her soon-to-be ex. "I, uh, don't have time for breakfast … Jerr Bear. Don't wait up. I don't know how long I'll be."

As Caroline dashed past the cuckoo that was popping its head out for the last time, she thought, "_Time to clean some clocks."_

_13_

"That idiot? No offense, sweet cheeks, but I aint never figgered how a belle like you could hitch her wagon to such a bonafide imb-eee-sile."

Michael Damion Dallas, Esquire, Mikey D. or Mikey to his best friends and long-time clients, hiked his substantial trousers up over his drooping gut and hawked a wad into an ash tray. Caroline found Mikey's cowboy drawl only half as entertaining as his remarkable skill at metaphorically mooning authority figures without ever dropping them thar trou. As he parked his sizable can in his full-figgered chair and kicked up his muddied boots, he swept his chubby arm upward and said, "Hand to Jesus, if he weren't friends with the D.A., I'd go after that SOB myself, pro bono. Hell, Annie, I'd pay you." He methodically unwrapped an entire pack of gum, held it in a stack, and popped the whole thing in his mouth at once. "You do realize, dontcha," his gum-jumbled mouth asserted, "the second you hand your rest-runt over to that dolt, he's gonna run it into the ground?"

Looking like a Dashiell Hammett femme fatale securing a private dick, Caroline sat on the chair's edge, sipped club soda, and pretzeled her leggy jeans. "Not my problem anymore. Just get the papers drawn up and I'm outta here."

"Both? You sure you wanna do this? The binness and the house? You're just gonna hand it all over to that dolt?"

_"Ha. Dolt. What a great word," _she thought._ "What an appropriate description."_

"Yup." She set the club soda on the bronco-busting barrister's desk and unpretzeled. "I'll be back this afternoon to pick up the papers. Just have it ready, please, Mikey. And don't forget the other thing."

"Ya know, the Barker bunch's been my kin's clients for half a cent-ry, ever since my daddy started this firm. I don't know what I'm gonna do without ya, sweet cheeks. I'm actually a little skeered. And you? Why, you're starting a whole new life, Annie. Aint you skeered?"

Caroline reached her body over the desk and planted a kiss on Mikey's forehead. "Skeered? Lil 'ol me? Sheeee-oooot. You know what the Duke says, sweet cheeks. Courage is being skeered and a-saddling up anyway."

_14_

She stepped over the threshold, tossed her keys on a side table, and stopped dead. "_What in hell is that noise?" _She didn't really have to ask the question; she knew. It was the unmistakable moan of betrayal. Long accustomed to betrayal, Caroline raised her chin, clutched tightly the papers her attorney had drawn up, and headed toward the endless staircase.

She walked unceremoniously into the master bedroom, knowing what was in store. She tossed the bundle of legalities directly at Peg's naked body just as Jerry was about to blow his lid. "Sign these, dolt."

Wrapped ankle notwithstanding, a startled Peg vaulted off Caroline's leafless husband, leaving Jerry howling the screams of the damned for missing his climax by seconds. Caroline knelt by the bed to grab a few final remnants of her old life, as her husband scrambled for a defense to the naked writhings she'd just witnessed.

"Care Bear!" Jerry searched for something original to say to excuse the scene. "This isn't what it looks like."

At that, Caroline pulled her head from under the bed and stood up. Like a whip's swift cracking, she jerked the blanket from the bed, tossing it to the floor, exposing their pornography. Peg immediately re-cloaked herself with a blotted sheet and reached for the papers.

Still searching for alibis, Jerry blurted, "I swear, it doesn't mean a thing. I just-"

"Shut the hell up or you'll blow it!" Peg smacked Jerry with the papers, unmoved by his treason of their love. "She's selling you the house and the restaurant, all for a dollar!"

Jerry changed his tune, something he'd been known to do when money was involved. "What?" He grabbed the papers from his mistress and, with a Cheshire grin, began frantically studying.

Peg's lust peaked out from under the sheets. "Yes! One dollar! This house was featured in House Beautiful! And your business, hell, it's a cash cow. Sign the damned papers, moron. Now!"

With a warm smile thinking of the tremendous love in the room, Caroline checked her lipstick in the mirror, swept everything off the dresser into her bag, and said, "I'll be outta here in a minute. That's all you'll need, trust me." She tossed a pen at Jerry, and he gleefully John Hancocked next to every little yellow tab. She then scooped up Bobby from the chair, snatched the papers from Jerry's hands, and turned to the wet bar to grab the thousand-dollar bottle of champagne the lovers had been chilling to perfection. She sucked in a huge, goodbye-old-life breath, puffed it out, and headed for the door.

"So that's it then?" Jerry bellyached. "Twelve years of marriage? A business? A baby? No emotion at all?" Caroline turned the knob and opened the door, as Jerry's volume raised. "You cold bitch! I had to go to your best friend for a warm body!" Naked butt to the wind, he jumped out of bed and ran to his new ex-wife. Eluding to Michelin-star-chef Caroline's signature dish, he whispered loudly, spitting with impunity, "And she makes a better vichyssoise than you do!"

_15_

"Train roll on, on down the line, won't you please take me far, far away."

Nothing had ever set her in hotter pursuit, yet remained ever just a carrot away. The feeling of absolute freedom, untarnished by circumstance, was the one thing she had longed for more than anything else, ever since the day Harrison Marr had trapped her in that bedroom, imprisoned as sure as if he'd sealed the walls up around her like in a Poe short story. But now, with her sinking business and dead marriage just a distant rendering in a rearview mirror, freedom ushered in with zeal and impatience. And today, a free Caroline was powered by six rolling tires, a beating sun, a friendly breeze, and her favorite Southern rock band blasting the blues.

"Tuesday's gone with the wind. My baby's gone with the wind. Now I feel the wind blow outside my door … train roll on, train roll on …"

Caroline parked her mammoth truck in the same two spots as last time. It seemed like such an insignificant thing, but it gave her a sense of the familiar in a town she'd only been to once before. Bobby, who'd had a little tummy ache the whole drive over, was all too eager to get out of that truck and into a warm, snuggly bed.

"Poor little guy," she patted his head. "You must be a little car sick." She fed him what little he would eat and then, routine for them, kissed his cold snout and guided his face downward to peck his little forehead. "Nighty-night, baby boy. I'll be back real soon," she said, closing the door to cabin one.

Funny how the buzzing sign that was missing its letter 'M' had a whole new meaning now. Never before had she been so keenly aware of it—what a difference a day makes. Again she headed for the Rusty Nail, a designation that seemed anything but cliché now.

"I remember you, luv," the waitress said. Caroline instantly recalled her as the lively little thing with the Lulu accent. The girl's eyes followed Caroline all the way up to the bar. "Nice to see you back here. I'm Dahlia, have a seat."

"Am I too early for Ted? Traffic wasn't-"

"Teddy? No, luv, no. He aint here." Dahlia tipped a cup to the beer tap and topped off a cold one for a thirsty customer. "Be right with ye," she added.

_"Not here? He must be at home." _Caroline thought back to his last text. "_Coulda sworn he said he's at the bar at this time."_ She searched her bag for the address he'd emailed her. "Dahlia? I can't find-" She stopped herself, anxiously standing by as the petite young Briton finished up with assorted drunkards. "Do you have his address? I don't know where I put-"

"No. No, dearie. I meant Teddy's gone." She tossed a towel over her shoulder and leaned against a stool. "I figgered you knew. He moved, I … guess. Nobody here's got a clue where to or what 'appened."

Caroline stood still, dazed at the news. "What? What are you saying? He and I … we … had plans."

Witnessing the rush of tears seize Caroline's face, Dahlia handed her a clump of bar napkins. "I know, luv. Believe me. He was so happy for a while. Couldn't wait to see ye again. He talked about it constantly." She chuckled, as her eyes hit the ceiling. "Incessantly, really. If we didn't love 'im so much, we all woulda beat 'im down fer it. It was just too damned precious."

"Then … why?"

Dahlia lowered her head and shut her moist eyes for missing her friend. "Told ye, nobody knows. Was nearly a week ago."

Caroline recalled that was about when his texts had stopped. At the time, she had chosen to conclude he'd just gotten too busy.

Dahlia continued. "I've known Teddy since before Theo was born, and I'll tell ye this, bloke 'adn't been 'imself for quite a while. Something just … wasn't right, ye know?" She shook her head and looked into the distance. "But then he got that call. I heard 'im shriek. Ghastly sound. He was standing over there by the lift. I aint never seen 'im like that. He dropped his phone. Just dropped it. Didn't even realize what he done." She reached down, pulled the phone from a drawer, and handed it over. "Never came back fer it. He just ran outta here. I went after 'im. Seen 'im run out the door. Called, but he just kept running."

At the familiar scene, Caroline realized it was all too true. In their conversations, she'd felt something had been upsetting her boy-scout, but she figured he'd tell her when he was ready. Now she had to see for herself. She checked the phone, but it was dead. Her words came out in slow whispers. "Do you … have his address?" She pointed to her purse and stammered, nearly hyperventilating. "I … don't have ... can't find-"

"You don't wanna go there, luv. We been there. No Teddy. No Theo. No-"

"Please, Dahlia. Can you please give me his address?"

Dahlia pulled the pen from her ear, scratched on a bar napkin, and handed it to Caroline. "You gotta know he loved you, right?"

But she didn't. Not now. Not anymore. She couldn't. Everything she'd been through. Everything she'd just done. Handing over her business, her house. Picking up her pup and leaving with only what her truck could haul. All that … for this? "_Gone. No clue."_

She was powerless to the stream of tears rushing down her cheeks. It was the same feeling she'd had in the months after her precious baby died, defenseless to the onslaught of panging, agonizing emptiness that there's just no getting out of the way of—like a locomotive headed straight for her.

Caroline accepted the note from Dahlia, turned, and drifted toward the door. She lifted her hand and dropped it on the knob, twisting in one direction then the other. Once outside, she moved toward some vehicles in a half-dazed search for her enormous truck. She felt for the door and found herself in a seat. As the ignition revved, the band played.

"Train roll on, on down the line. Won't you please take me far, far away."

_16_

The journey back to Ted had taken eight weeks, two days, and four hours. But the two-mile drive from the bar to his house was eternal. Like a teenager, Caroline had felt the wait to see him again would never end. Every night of those eight and a half weeks, lying next to Jerry, knowing how he'd swindled her, not even realizing he'd been sleeping with Peg. How long had that been going on? Every day, communicating with Ted mostly through texts. It seemed like forever. Little had she known.

_"Teddy's gone. Nobody's got a clue. He just kept running."_

The words turned over and over in her head as she stepped down from the cab, walked miles up the sidewalk, approached and stood.

Cordial little ranch house. Resolute and rough around the edges, just like her boy-scout. She felt a sense of surreality stepping through the unlocked front door. Knowing full well what Dahlia had said, she timidly called out anyway. "Teddy? Romeo?"

Now in the doorway, Caroline stood again, suspended, almost believing if she never went inside, she'd never know for sure he was gone … and their goodbyes would never come.

"_But at least saying goodbye would mean I'd get to see him just one more time."_

Cautiously stepping through the cramped entranceway into the livingroom, the first sense that struck her was the sickening stench of stale liquor. An alcoholic since her teens, it was an odor Caroline knew all too well. Navigating debris, she walked through the modest dwelling into each of two bedrooms, one and a half baths, and galley kitchen. Clearly, nothing good had happened here.

Walking to the rear of the kitchen, she felt a crunching on the floor. She looked down to find broken glass spread the width of the back door's window. Guardedly treading over it, she opened the door to find a brand new 12-speed with a poorly tied bow around it lying on the worn deck, its handle bars scratched and bent. Scattered around the bike were a sledge hammer and broken bottles of Jose Cuervo and his kinfolk. As she crunched more broken glass under her shoes, she 180'd on the deck, noting streaks that could only be liquor down the side of the house.

Feeling complete despair now, she bent over, picked up one of her Romeo's half-empty bottles and raised it to her lips, thinking she would not only drink it but could also touch her lips to something that had touched his. She could barely see as sadness blocked her vision. She stopped herself from drinking, wiped her eyes, and threw the bottle at the side of the house, just as she imagined he'd done days before.

_"Teddy, no. What happened, my love?" _

Caroline sat in the fraying deck chair and curled her long, slender body into a ball. There was nothing on Earth she wanted more in that moment than to wrap herself around him, console him, protect him from it. Whatever he'd heard on that phone call, it had sent him from the dull ache he'd learned to live with into incalculable despondency. Her eyes closed delicately, still running pools down her face.

Tiny rain droplets touched her awake, as the soft evening light she used to revel in instantly became just another painful time of day.

_"I must have fallen asleep. What time is it?"_

Caroline walked back into Ted's abandoned home and felt more tears overtaking her. As she stepped again through the dismal living room, she noticed a picture frame. It was cracked and lying on the floor next to another wall splattered with yet more streaks of liquor. She picked up the frame and saw her proud, smiling boy-scout standing next to his spitting image, both standing in front of a Christmas tree.

"_Chip,"_ she thought. "_So handsome."_ After staring at the photo for days and days, she slipped it out of its broken frame and pressed it inside her wallet.

She walked out of the house and turned back to look again, wondering what could have happened and feeling a dreadful panic that Ted had done something rash. She recalled what he'd said about that punch. "_I'll never allow myself to be reckless like that ever again, for my son's sake."_

Caroline stepped up into her truck and changed the music to the Jefferson Starship CD she'd bought after their evening together. Hearing his words, "_my all-time favorite song," _she sat awhile, staring at the horizon. After several minutes, she switched on the ignition. Aimless now, she drove, singing softly.

"You always fill my eyes with tears. Cry, Caroline."

_17_

"Where in tarnation is Under Dog?"

The gaunt-but-fetching Southerner threw out the question as he walked by the establishment's brand new giant-screen TV. An old-fashioned down-home boy, Tommy Ray Russell lived for two things: being kind to little old ladies and being extra kind to their daughters. And when he wasn't carousing with a maiden on each arm, he was working his southern bee-hind off making the restaurant a success. The general manager had been Caroline's right hand from the beginning. Now that she was gone, he saw little reason to stick around. From the derelict new owners to the plebian new chef, he knew it was only a matter of time before he Johnny Paychecked his ass right out the door.

Jerry glared at the rube and grabbed the menus out of his hand. "Where the hell have you been? The parade hasn't had Under Dog in years."

"Where the hell have I been?" the country boy shot back. "Where the hell have I been?! I been working hard and living my life, 'steada parking my shiftless rump in front of the tube, blowing alla my ex-wife's coin up my nose," he shot daggers at Peg, "with Vampira over here." Pleased at his insubordination, the general manager grinned and pushed his way through the swinging doors. Just itching for Jerry to fire him, Tommy Ray figured Thanksgiving was as good a time as any.

But Jerry had no intention of chopping off his right hand. Unmoved by his GM's weekly one-man mutinies, he choked up an awkward giggle. "I guess."

Peg rolled her eyes at her lover's chicken heart. "Why do you let that hillbilly talk to you like that?"

Jerry winked and pounded his chest. "I've got him right where I want him. Trust me." He turned Peg's head to the club's bustling crowd. "Look at this place. Packed. Packed! Who do you think does all this?" He moved in close, licked her ear, and slipped his hand under her blouse. "Case you hadn't noticed, Cat Woman, it aint us."

Charging out from the kitchen, Tommy Ray scowled at the adulterers. Purposefully brushing past Peg, he shoved a tray in Jerry's face. "Here. If you need something for that hand, take this over to table nine. They like their breast tough and leathery too."

_18_

Caroline stepped over the threshold.

"_A house is not a home,"_ she thought, "_when there's no one there."_

Hard to believe it had been months since she'd seen him. And, their love affair over before it started, there was no way of knowing if she'd ever see him again. Friends had all said it—time to move on. And everything she knew told her the same. But how do you move on from something that never had a chance to start? And, further irony, how do you move on from something that never began—yet feels timeless? Ted and Caroline. There had been no end, no beginning. There had only been.

Nonetheless, she finally faced the fact that it was time to get out of that motel. Staying in the place where she'd met, fallen in love, and spent a lifetime in a single night with her boy-scout was out of the question. Though still unsure of where she'd end up, one thing was certain: there would be no moving on while she remained in cabin one.

Bobby in one hand, box of memories in the other, Caroline walked through her new home, emptiness its most striking attribute. Considering her upscale past, it was a modest home, for sure. Three bedrooms, each painted a more garish color than the last; tiny dining room acutely adorned with a shamelessly ornate chandelier; and unfinished basement with laundry hookups. There was but one bathroom, but it did possess a huge, heavenly claw-foot tub. Another thing Caroline especially liked was the throwback décor—a kind of 1970s Hollywood that most would find gaudy. Always the contrarian, she found it stylish, even comforting. "_Throwback_," she thought. Something her missing Hondo would have loved.

Settling into a glory of bubbles was the best answer the recovering alcoholic could think of to end the trying day. It also seemed like the best way to prepare for tomorrow's lonely task of facing an uncertain future. As she tossed her favorite vanilla bath beads into the water and watched them dissipate under the rushing faucet, she could think of little else but her beloved. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the photo. Dropping her soft robe to the tile, she glided her shapely form under the foam and rested her head on the wet porcelain. She closed her eyes half shut, sipped a root beer imagining scotch, and stared at Ted's likeness imagining embodiment.

The dripping faucet anxiously accompanied Caroline's heavy breathing. Soft candles the only thing illuminating her solitude, she shut her eyes tight to feel Ted's forceful voice deep in her spirit. His inviting baritones spoke to her over and over. "_I'm dying to indulge in you. Indulge in you."_ Softly waving her fingers in and out of the water, she envisioned Ted's strong hands sliding throughout her smooth, glistening skin.

_"So much for moving on."_

_19_

"Go find my husband, rube."

Grace, style, elegance—these were not designations one would ascribe to the restaurant's new first mistress. Barely visible under a thick, smoky cloud, Peg guzzled Sangria and scrutinized the help.

As Tommy Ray dragged the vacuum cleaner into the hallway, he curtly contested his overseer's dictate. "Husband? Lordy, how I miss the days when a woman actually had to rope a man into marrying her 'fore she could call him her husband."

Peg yawned and swilled. "Go find my husband, hayseed."

Tommy Ray threw down the vacuum and ran at Peg, holding his whiskers an inch from her face. "You don't get it, do you, fishwife?! It don't work like that 'round here. Oh, no, no, no!" He stepped back. "You see, I am the general manager of this establishment. And, in its present otherwise unmanned state, that means that I do all of the work that is supposed to be performed," he rushed her face again, "by its owners." Peg opened her mouth to speak, but Tommy Ray would have none of it, his finger practically poking up her nose. "I am the only person here who knows how to run a successful restaurant. I have been here since the beginning, and alla that means that I am," he over-enunciated to maximize spit factor, "in-dee-spensable. And why, you ask? Very simple, Vampira. It's because you and your," he quoted air, "_husband_ don't do a goll-darn thing 'round here 'cept screw, spend, and snort!" He stomped to the vacuum, flipped its cord violently, and plugged it into the wall. Turning back to Peg, he added, "Oh, and if you wanna know where your degenerate gigolo is, just follow the white Christmas." He pointed to the high-priced powder pathway that started at the kitchen and led directly to Jerry's office.

Peg knelt to examine the opiate trail. "You gotta be kidding me?!"

"'Course I aint kidding!" Tommy Ray shouted, clicking his teeth. "What in tarnation do you think I'm doing with this here sweeper?! Like I don't already do enough around here!" He resumed his cleaning, mumbling to himself. "I swear, if I didn't follow you worthless addicts 'round day and night, we'd all end up in the damned hoosegow."

Peg headed toward Jerry's office, barking orders behind her. "Just make sure you use a new vacuum cleaner bag, Jethro." She abruptly swung open the door to the office, then turned back to shout more commands to her serf. "And when you're done vacuuming, Li'l Abner, leave the bag in my in-box." She slammed the door behind her and undulated past Jerry's college buddies to straddle her boyfriend, who was in the middle of a grievous inhale.

"Whooaaa!" he shrieked, throwing his head back and holding his nose. "You'll make me spill it. Stupid woman." Peg lifted her hand to slap him, but he grabbed it and licked her fingers.

"You can straddle me any time," nondescript college buddy number one salivated. He gave his lips a sodden slurp, gaping at Peg's exposed thighs as they draped over Jerry's.

"Keep it to yourself," Jerry answered the man's droolings. He held onto Peg's waist as he leaned over to indulge the remaining dust.

"You!" Peg snapped at the buddies. "Get back out to the party. We didn't spend the past month making this party the event of the holiday season for you to be in here coking it up and," she looked them up and down, "doing whatever else you two do. I mean it, get out. I need to talk to my man alone."

Like a low-level wise guy, Jerry glared at his inferiors and jerked his head sideways, shooing them out the door. "Beat it."

College buddy number two slapped CB1 upside his head. "Let's go."

"I'd rather stay and watch," One dribbled.

Nearly pushing Peg to the floor, Jerry shouted, "Get the hell out!" One and Two jumped to their feet in obedience. As they walked past the coffee table, the second one reached down for his drugs.

"Leave it!" Jerry ordered.

"Hey, I paid a lot-"

"It's in my possession now," Jerry schooled. "Nine-tenths, idiot," he added, eluding to their very brief law-school days, possession being 'nine-tenths of the law.'

"If you're looking for more," Peg informed the CBs, "go see the hillbilly for a vacuum cleaner bag." The second the door shut, she turned her attention back to the philandering at hand. She leaned in at Jerry's ear and whispered, "So when's this wedding going to happen?"

Jerry picked up Peg's body and repositioned it over and over. "Ha! You think I should trust you enough to marry you?"

Lifting herself from his lap, she seized his liabilities, gleefully watching him wince. She exhaled straight to his ear drum. "Nine tenths, Mr. Dougherty."

Gritting and grimacing, Jerry squeezed out words, "What … the hell … does that … mean?"

"You forget who owns you. You forget who knows your secrets."

"Come on … Cat Woman. You know … how I feel … about you." Not quite enough for Peg to emancipate his baubles, Jerry ran his tongue along her neck. "I could never … live without you … Margaret Vitelli."

Peg squeezed harder, further securing her ownership. As her lover now bellowed in misery, she stared down his squinting eyes and grinned. "What's my name?" He gave her a puzzled stare, and she clasped tighter. "What is my name?!"

The captive whimpered. "Mmm … Margaret … Vitel-" She escalated her control. "Doowwwww! Dougherty! Margaret Dougherty!"

_20_

It was that time of year, so Caroline vowed to smile as much as she could endure. Cockeyed optimism wasn't her thing, but neither was hopelessness. Rummaging through boxes for Mom's homemade treetop, she forged past the skips and crackles on her favorite Christmas album and caroled on.

"Every song you hear seems to say, 'Merry Christmas, may your New Year dreams come-"

"_True, yeah, sure," _she thought._ "New Year dreams, my ass_."

Still living in limbo, she moved from unpacked box to unpacked box in search of that treetop and anything else that could bring a trace of holiday cheer. "This can't be everything." Remembering the pile in her closet, she tossed a half-empty carton to the floor and headed for the bedroom, Bobby on her heels. "Are you gonna help me look, baby boy?" She scooped him up and nestled his furry body into blankets. "Sit here, little guy. I'll bring you some boxes and you can sniff out a little Christmas for us." She turned back to the closet. "Maybe we can make this year a little nicer than last year."

Caroline wrestled with the closet door, which was slightly off its track. As she finally pushed it open, an eye-level heap tumbled to the floor. Bobby barked at the sudden noise, and they both dropped to the carpet. "Crap! I knew that was gonna happen."

She chuckled as Bobby tripped on the pile, rubbing his snout over contents that spilled out in front of the bed. Sniffing some papers and finding opportunity, he lifted his leg. "Don't you dare!" She watched the pup cower and picked him up, patting his head and kissing it. "Little boy, you know you're not supposed to do that in the house." She reached past the dog's near miss to rescue papers. "What the hell?" She couldn't make out all the words, but enough of them were recognizable. She grabbed a corner and read, "Anastazia Grazianna Poritzia Barker."

Mom's autopsy. Remembering that in the chaos and grief she had never seen it, her eyes instantly moved to the most material of it.

"_Cause of death."_ She recalled Jerry's answer when she'd asked the question. She squinted her eyes to read again. _"Cause of death: Undetermined."_

_21_

The weeks had been going so well. Taking each day one after the other, she'd been getting better and better until the minutes weren't so exacting and worry had finally begun to wane. It hadn't been long since Gracie's crib death when Mom had taken ill. At, of all things, Jerry's insistence, Grandma Grace had moved from her empty mansion into the slightly smaller Dougherty Estate. 'You need to be with the people who love you' … these were Jerry's uncharacteristically comforting words to his mother-in-law.

True, every newborn has a special place in a grandparent's heart, but Joanna Grace could only be described as the irrefutable apple of Grandma's eye. Clear this baby would be only-child Caroline's only child, Grandma Grace had taken the tiny, overpowering death particularly hard, so hard that shortly after Grace's funeral, her own decline had begun. And son-in-law Jerry had never been so caring.

Surprised and even inspired, Caroline watched as her heretofore-detached husband prepared meals, propped pillows, held hands, and kept the family from final abdication to its grief. It had been a long road, but after months in and out of the hospital, Mom was finally getting strong again.

"Don't lift a finger." It had become Jerry's mantra to his mother-in-law, as he stood by with solace and sustenance each time she fell ill, and again with encouragement and assurance each time she grew well. He was as warm as a husband could be in the most trying time of their lives. But nothing lasts forever.

"Mrs. Dougherty, I'm so sorry to tell you-"

"No!" Jerry could feel Caroline's slight body giving way. He caught what was left of her wasting frame, as she wailed for losing yet another loved one in so short a time. "Jerry, please don't let him say it," Caroline cried, falling onto the floor of the waiting room, unable to move let alone stand.

Jerry knelt to lift her delicateness, cradling the waif and carrying her toward the door. "Don't say another word," he insisted, glaring back at the doctor. "You've done enough."

"We did all we could, I assure-"

"You people always say that. But who's left to pick up the pieces?" Supporting nothing but skin and bones, Jerry moved swiftly through the stark hallways and out the door. Practically lifeless since he'd scooped her off the cold hospital tile, she seemed weightless as he rested her into the SUV and tapped her face. "Come on, Carrie." Trying to warm her back to life, he raised a flask to her nose. She grabbed it and guzzled. "Carrie, no."

"Leave it!" she shrieked. "Leave me the hell alone." She climbed over the leather to the back seat, curled into a fetal position, and fell to the floor. She poured the flask's remaining liquor down her throat and passed out.

"How long have I been out?" They were Caroline's first coherent words in days, having spent nearly a week bending in and out of consciousness. Her hair a stank, sticky mess and her face the same, she propped herself up on the edge of the bed. "How long, Jerry?"

"Five days."

"So … wait. Are you saying I missed Mommy's-"

"No. Nothing like that. They've been keeping her … well … it's tomorrow. I've been trying to get you to-'

"I know. It's all I can remember of the past few days." Caroline found just enough strength to stand, but her knees buckled and she fell again to the bed. "Why did you let me drink?"

"I tried to get you to stop," her husband excused. "But you … were so … I- "

"Forget it. I wouldn't expect you to …" Her words trailing off, she dropped again to the blankets, but the sickly stench of stale whiskey permeating cotton brought her up again. It was time to face it. She sat up and asked the question. "What happened, Jerry?"

"What do you mean?"

"How did she die? She was doing so well. She was getting better, I thought. We all thought-"

"I know. It ... was-" he chose his words carefully, "pneumonia … babe. It was pneumonia." He recalled. "We saw it all the time," reminding her of his days as an EMT, "especially in old people." He sat on the bed, grabbed a comb off the dresser, fixed his look in the mirror, and catalogued. "They get sick. They get better. They go home. Then they get an infection in their lungs. Nobody knows it." He pulled hairs from the comb, tossed them in the direction of a waste can, and set the comb back on the dresser. He turned back to Caroline with a peculiar smile. "Happens," he snapped his fingers, "just like that."

That was it. The snap. It was that snap that brought her back to reality. All those weeks living with warm Jerry, caring Jerry, it took that sound to finally reopen her eyes. And that cold, unaffected smirk. This was the Jerry Caroline knew. How could he have been so matter-of-fact about her mother's death?

_"Snap. Just like that."_

_22_

_"Undetermined. That's not pneumonia." _Caroline's thoughts were wild and racing. "_He said pneumonia. Why would he say that? He read the autopsy. He knew what it said." _She scanned the word over and over._ "Undetermined. Undetermined. Why change it?" _

She thought about Jerry's true character. All the despicable things he'd done throughout their marriage. The years of entrenched lies. The cheating. The embezzling. Insisting she abort, heartless to her profound longing for a baby. He had even been fired from his EMT job for 'questionable treatment of patients.' Did he have even one redeemable quality? Was there no line he wouldn't cross?

_"What's that SOB really capable of? And why would he change it from undetermined to pneumonia? Or was it a lie? A calculated lie?" _She considered the unlikely chance her ex had lied to divert her attention from her pain.

_"Diversion." _Here was another word that tumbled through her head._ "Diversion … but maybe not from my pain?"_

_23_

"Scotch and soda. Hold the soda."

Dahlia studied, as the cat deposited Caroline at the bar. "Crikey. What the 'ell 'appened to you?"

"Did I include the hold-the-soda part?" Caroline snarled, camouflaging with the rest of the patrons.

"Hold the scotch," Dahlia ordered. "I'll getcha a root beer. You're a bleedin' mess."

"Your point?" Caroline grumbled, swaying over a bar stool and swatting chimerical flies. "Scotch, dammit!"

"My points are," Dahlia declared, dashing from behind the counter to catch Caroline mid-sway, "one, you got a new business you're opening up in a few weeks." She struggled to get the wagon faller's body balanced on the bar stool, then went back to supplying drinks and schooling drunks. "And it's a business we desperately need in this three-horse town. And," she seized a half-empty bottle, pushing it in Caroline's face in a near-comical preach, "you're too damned talented a chef to let _this_ ruin it for you … or for us." She tossed the bottle ala-Cocktail and replaced it under the bar, as Caroline accompanied her eye roll with accessory gesturing. "And two, you aint gettin' no damned scotch here, straight nor otherwise."

Caroline jabbed her fingers at Dahlia. "That's three points. Three." She gave a haughty nod and set her feet deliberately on the floor. "Bye."

Learned in the habits of the urban drunk, Dahlia instructed, "You aint lived here long, luv." Inquisitive and teetering, Caroline halted her step. "Didn't I never tell ya, this is the only bar within 80 miles?" As she watched Caroline survey the crowd, Dahlia threw back her head in triumphant laughter, adding, "Yeah. Why the 'ell do you think we do such a boomin' business 'round here? It sure as 'ell aint the ambiance!" She slapped the back of a customer, who gave her a toast and an acquiescent wink. "Ha!"

"Eh." Caroline tripped and tripped again, finally picking up her feet in animated control. "There's a liquor store right outside town." She slapped the same customer, who gave an equally endorsing toast and wink. "Ha!" She fell over a bit and continued walking, hunched and progressing slowly.

"Go ahead," Dahlia insisted. All bar peepers followed the tennis match between the bickering ladies, most now stuck on the rummy journeying toward the door. "But you're gonna have to go through Benno and Veet first."

Finally at the door, Caroline hit a wall'o'goons. Blocking her exit towered two great hairy bodies, their scissor-hands folded in calm intimidation. Benno and Vito Socrates were brothers who just happened to have come to the No-tell Motel from a family of thriving butchers, a fact that escaped Caroline at the moment.

"Seriously?!" She bent over, laughing and resting her hands on her knees. "Where are we anyway? 1940s Hollywood?! Is Edward G. Robinson here too?" Finally quieting her laughter, she said, "Benno and Vito may look foreboding, but they're cooks, for God's sake!"

"Yeah," Dahlia agreed. "Cooks who know what to do wiv a body so's nobody'll ever find it."

It was a statement that brought an instant hush to an otherwise rowdy bunch. One second … two seconds … and the entire joint burst into riotous laughter.

"So's nobody'll eee-vuh foind it?!" Caroline lovingly parodied Dahlia's accent and reached her arms out for a hug.

Fuzzier-goon Vito raised his carving knives like a demon barber's arm completion and sharpened the blades against each other. "It's all in da wrist." He bellowed an infectious laugh that nearly quaked the room. "All in da wrist ... get it? Dat's funny." He carefully set down the knives, then stretched his gigantic arms around the embracing women to get in on the love.

Caroline wiped smiling tears from her eyes as she walked back to the bar and resigned herself to a night sans imbibnation.

Dahlia touched her friend's shoulder, went back behind the counter, and said, "Root beer, luv?"

_24_

Outside the restaurant, Tommy Ray was all pleasure. But for the 12/6 he was at work, he was all business. And this business definitely wasn't as it should be. As host, he was constant smiles and howdy-dos, but as general manager, his head was in constant flux. Walking from room to room on this, their busiest night of the week, he probed each table, each patron's order. He tipped his proverbial hat, shook hands, grinned, and beared. He then turned his attention to the evening's receipts and the cash in the drawer.

The place was always hopping, SRO with upscale diners and dancers spending old money hand over fist. Though it had lost its Michelin-star rating after losing Caroline's world-class cuisine, Peg, a chef of sorts herself, had found a pretty decent replacement who deserved at least three stars for the new menu and an extra half-star for creativity. Not a Michelin-star accomplishment, perhaps, but patrons were still flocking to the revamped establishment in droves, if mostly for its brand new high-tech dance floor. And that was why the books so concerned its general manager.

"I need to talk to you, Gerald."

"I'm on my way out, T.R." It was Jerry's usual answer to his manager's repeated requests for meetings. "It'll have to wait."

"No!" Tommy Ray insisted. "I'm sicka waitin' for a meetin' with you! I'm sicka this place goin' to hell in a handbasket. I'm sicka the money dwindlin'. And I am sick of the damned riffraff!"

"Riffraff?" Jerry replied. "Our clients are upstanding-"

"Upstandin', my South-Carolinian heinie! The riffraff starts with you and your so-called wife!" Jerry sneered and continued packing up for the day. "Not to mention the criminal element 'round here."

"Criminal element? Just who the hell are you speaking of?!"

"Your friends … always selling their … product."

"You got something against salespeople?"

"You know exactly who the hell I'm talkin' 'bout!" Tommy Ray shouted. "Salespeople, ha! What a joke. I am talkin' about the drug dealers, Gerald O! And then there's all the damned actors!"

Jerry jerked his head and laughed wildly. "Actors?!"

Tommy Ray added, "Yes! Riffraff in the form of drug dealers, assorted criminals, and actors! And sometimes all rolled up in the same damned riffraff! I have had it with alla your shite!"

Jerry scoffed, locked up his office vault, stuffed two bags in his brief case, and shut off the lights. He waited a few moments for Tommy Ray to get out of his way. "I'm late. I don't have time for your bullshit."

The general manager stood firm, concerned at what he'd just witnessed, mostly because it wasn't the first time. Two brown pocket-sized leather bags had just found their way into the owner's briefcase, the briefcase that carried nary a brief nor any other evidence of work. "I am not moving!" Tommy Ray proclaimed.

"What the hell?!" Jerry returned. "How dare you talk to me like that!" He had put up with his GM speaking disrespectfully to him a dozen times a week since he'd taken over the restaurant, but this was different. _This_ Tommy Ray, he wasn't laughing, or mocking, or in any way entertaining himself. Jerry pushed his employee out of the doorway and rushed past him.

"Come back here with that coke and cash, you worm!" The manager ran at the owner, tackled him to the floor, and grabbed for the briefcase, tumbling on top of him.

"Get your hillbilly hands off my property!" At least the sounds of the tussle from the downstairs hallway hadn't made their way to patrons upstairs.

After Tommy Ray's face had gotten in the way of Jerry's bony fist one too many times, the lanky southern gent, lover not fighter, finally surrendered. He stood, brushed off his jacket, and held his blackening eye. "Fine, you jackass. Spend the damned place into the ground, see if I care." He turned to head up to the club's customers, then turned back again to its reckless owner. "But when you've thieved, partied, and free-based your way out of ownership

of the most successful establishment in town, don't come crying to me." He turned again to the staircase. "'Cause my hillbilly ass'll be gone."

_25_

Time may not be the healer its reputation professes, but keeping busy does have the power to move a body forward, if for nothing else but to bury the pain. Never one to wallow in sorrow, Caroline's two best answers to heartache were work and anger: work for its ability to distract the heart from its pain, anger for its ability to redirect it. And her solution now to the whole tangled mess was to open a new business.

With no desire to run another restaurant that would only remind her of Jerry, she decided the best new endeavor for an accomplished chef whose signature dishes were served cold was a specialized catering business. But this time she needed more than just success. She needed this business to put the past in its place, thumbing its nose to her old life with style. She laughed as she typed the title into the business card's template. "_The Cold Bitch_." It was the last label Jerry had pinned on her and, dammit, she was going to wear it proudly.

Working day and night preparing for this opening occasionally put Caroline's thoughts on her old restaurant. Though it was all in the past now, she couldn't help wondering how the new owners were faring. She recalled her lawyer's prediction. "_The second you hand your rest-runt over to that dolt, he'll run it into the ground."_ She knew Mikey D. was right, especially now that Peg was along for the ride. And each time she imagined Jerry penniless, she also saw him Peg-less. For, there was no question this broad was with him only for his money. How it all warmed Caroline's heart.

As usual while working, she sang to a favorite Broadway show. Tonight it was 'Sweeney Todd.'

"These are my friends. See how they glisten. See this one shine, how he smiles in the light, my friend."

Singing along with the demon barber's serenade to his razor-sharp BFFs, Caroline pictured Jerry sitting in that barber's chair, face cleanly shaven and throat freshly slit.

"My friend, you shall drip rubies. You'll soon drip precious rubies."

Considering her recent suspicions, here was another image she couldn't help grinning at—a glistening shank bathed in Jerry's juicy red, morally bankrupt blood. Her angry brain drifted off work to Mom's autopsy. "_Undetermined. Pneumonia." _She immediately snapped herself out of another potential bender.

"That's enough of that, Bobby." She turned to her pup, who had a natural inclination for accompanying cold bitches. "That's a thought for another day," she added, referring to her intentions of fully investigating Mom's death until she uncovered every morsel of truth. "I don't feel like being mad right now. And I'm sick of being sad. Time to go out and have a little fun." She patted her shoulders, and Bobby hopped up into her arms. "Good boy!" She smiled at his sweet face. "What would I do without you, little guy?" She looked into his huge brown eyes and thought, "_If only people were more like dogs."_

_26_

"You throw a mean Christmas Eve party, Dolly." Caroline held the ladder steady as Dahlia struggled to get the last of the decorations and assorted drunk tosses down from the rafters. "But the customers were starting to take bets on when you'd finally get the decorations down."

"Worst job evuh. So depressin'." Dahlia returned. "I been faffin' on this one for sure. But, I figgered wiv Valentine's come and gone, it was high time I got to it." She stretched out her arms for a string of garland beyond her reach.

"Careful!" A tall, tan customer who knew how to hold a lady better than a whiskey reached up and caught Dahlia's behind before it slipped along with the rest of her. He grabbed the bartender, then the garland.

"Sorry 'bout that, D," Caroline said. "My hand slipped."

"Don't be sorry, dearie. I been tryin' to get this lad's 'ands on me arse for a year now!" The stallion swept Dahlia off the ladder and twirled her around. "Woohoooo! I gotta get up on ladders more often!" She pulled him close and kissed him with a wide open mouth.

"You've got vacant rooms here, ya know," an envious Caroline offered.

"We'll just have to get us one latuh, won't we, Billy boy?" Dahlia asserted. She grabbed all she could of Billy's tight shirt and nuzzled his neck. He licked and whispered in her ear, and she slapped his cheek. "What kinda girl do ya fink I am?!" She laughed and jumped from his arms.

Billy did a pathetic guy dance and sang to '80s songs, pivoting Dahlia's 5-foot-nothing frame under his arm. "Take you to a motel room and take 'em off private."

Dahlia wiggled her nose at Billy and moved in closer. The top of her head only reaching just above his torso, she unbuttoned one of his buttons and nuzzled her face into his chest. "Oh, that's the spot, luv." She turned her back to him, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and looked up at his chiseled chin. "I'll be your angel, luv, and your centerfold!"

"All right, all right," Caroline said. "Can I help you get the rest of the decorations down, Doll, before you two climax right here?"

"Ahh, you spoiled me fun, Carr." The flirty bartender slapped her current favorite customer's muscular back and ran her hand downward. "See ya latuh, hot stuff," she whispered loudly.

Billy pulled Dahlia in close and dipped her, kissed her low, lifted her up again, and danced her back to her work. He grabbed two beers off the bar, wiggling and singing all the way back to his party. "To see her in that negligee is really just too much."

"Whew, it's steamin' hot in here," Dahlia said, giving a final ogle as Billy walked away. Then it was back to business, putting Christmas away until next year. She grabbed some photos from off the bar and looked to Caroline for help. "Follow me. We'll choose a few pichers we like for the wall over here." She passed Caroline a stack of photos and shuffled through the remainder for keepers.

"Oh, this one's hilarious." Caroline handed over one of Dahlia mooning a pack of dogged drinkers.

"Dear God, did I really do that?" Dahlia shook her head, burying it in her hand. "Oh, doesn't that just scream Christmas. Me mum would be so proud." Caroline began tacking it to the wall, but Dahlia grabbed it. "Don't think so."

"Oh, come on. You said to pick some I like."

"Not gonna happen, luv. That aint exactly how I care to remember our Lord's birfday. And it aint near how I want the patrons'a this little pub to thinka me."

"You think anybody's gonna forget that?" Caroline reminded, pulling her cell phone from her pocket. "There were about a hundred of these clicking at your exposed arse."

"No!" The pretty Briton laughed.

"Yep. Your posterior's out there for posterity now."

"Oh, what can I do about it," Dahlia sighed. "Go ahead, put it up there."

Caroline reached up to include the humbling image on the wall and recognized a face she was still missing terribly. She stood staring, then removed its tack and held the photo close.

"Oh, sweetie." Dahlia moved in next to Caroline to miss her old friend in good company. She tossed her head back and gave the photo a chuckle. "I remember this. Couple years ago." She pointed to a face unfamiliar to Caroline. "That's Joey. What a pig that one was. Don't recall his last name, somethin' with a B. We called 'im Buttafuoco." The ladies laughed in unison at the dated reference. "A moniker he earnt, I assure you." Gently, she took the photo from Caroline's hand and reminisced. She pointed to the images. "I was sittin' on the bar, and Teddy was standin' right there next to it. We was singin', oh what was it?" She closed her eyes and reflected. "Yeah. That Christmas song about the hippo."

Caroline sang. "I wanna hippopotamus for Christmas."

"That's the one. Believe it or not, it's one of Teddy's favorites." Caroline felt a slight stab of jealousy at how well and long the bartender had known her flame. Dahlia pulled the photo in closer, as a tear rolled down to her lips. She licked it off and ran her finger over the likeness. Caroline smiled, happily listening to the story about her lost love. "Buttafuoco came in and started singin' too, 'cept not the hippo song. He sang 'I Saw Mommy Kissin' Santa Claus,' so we started singin' that one wiv 'im. He kept movin' in close to me every time he sang somethin' 'bout kissin' or ticklin' or whatevuh. So, just as he sang it for about the third time, he turned to kiss me. Well, naturally, I saw it comin', so I ducked. Some bloke clicked the picher just as 'is lips hit Teddy's! It was a stitch!"

Caroline laughed and pointed at the photo. "So that's why you're down here and Ted's up here kissing a dude!" She thought about her Hondo. "I mean, I know he's a man's man, but not like that!" The women laughed again, then stopped to remember their vanished loved one. They both stood, eyes fixed in sad reflection.

Dahlia let out a sigh. "Maybe we'll nevuh know."

Caroline's nose twitched and her lips quivered. "I'm not sure I can accept that." She remembered Ted's handkerchief in her pocket, along with her words to him that night when he'd retrieved it from his pocket. "_You've gotta be the last man on Earth who carries a handkerchief." _It was yet another thing that reminded her of his old-school chivalry. She pulled it up from her pocket and wiped her tears. Recognizing that her friend's pain wasn't waning, Dahlia handed over the photo. "Are you sure?"

"A-course, luv. You keep it." She touched Caroline's shaking shoulder. "And keep believing that our friend'll be back. I'd rather you keep remindin' me it's possible, than I live in a world where I'll never get to see 'im again."

Caroline accepted the amusing photo of her boy-scout. She wrapped it in his handkerchief, folded it all carefully, and slipped her new memory back into her pocket. Always looking to substitute work for pain, she asked, "Anything else I can do to help?"

"Nope." Dahlia closed up the last box of cheap Christmas décor. "I'm done here. Time for me to take over at the bar. And thanks for your help at the do. Best one we ever had," she added, referring to the food Caroline had supplied for the party as a preview of her new catering business. "I couldn'ta done it wivout ye." She stuffed the box into a closet and headed back out to the bar.

Following the bartender, Caroline thought of her recent fall off the wagon and its record-short duration, thanks to Dahlia. "And I couldn'ta done it wivout you." She stopped the young woman and hugged her.

"Ahh, don't mention it. I had me own reasons for helping, anyway. We need a caterer 'round here, and you're the best we've ever had."

Caroline reminded, "In this three-horse town?" Dahlia laughed. "Don't people usually say one-horse town?" She sat at the bar and looked around for the new waitress.

Dahlia bragged, "Oh, we got three horses in this town, luv. They belong to a teacher and her husband living over on Dempsey."

Caroline chuckled at the literal reference to a metaphoric joke. "Where's Dempsey?"

"Oh, 'ell," Dahlia returned, "it's way out in the boonies. They got, like, 80 acres. It's huge. And gorgeous out there. They call it Dawna T's. They got a few horses, a pettin' zoo. It's fabulous. Open year-round, 'cept for a month or so when Dawna and her hubby go abroad or somethin'. They even do a summer camp for kids."

Riley, the new waitress, came around for Caroline's order. "Hi, Carr!" Very young and very happy to be out on her own for the first time, she was always thrilled to see everyone.

Surveying the new server's optimism, Caroline's thoughts instantly brought to mind her favorite Broadway show, 'Sweeney Todd.' Seeing the smile on the youthful girl's face, she couldn't help but think of the older, wiser, much-betrayed Benjamin Barker's words to his naïve friend. "_You are young. Life has been kind to you. You will learn."_

"It's beautiful over there," Riley testified of Dawna T's farm. "My little brother went to their camp last summer."

"Oh yeah?" Dahlia replied, pouring Caroline a pitcher of root beer and motioning to the waitress.

Riley took the pitcher and set it on Caroline's table. "Yeah," she answered, "but I don't think he liked it."

"Was it 'is first time away?" Dahlia inquired.

"Yeah and prolly his last. He don't like being away from home, I don't think." She handed Caroline a menu.

"Don't need a menu. Small cheese pizza covered in hot peppers, please."

"Yow!" Riley wrote up the order, ripped it from the pad, and headed to the kitchen.

A mere skip and a jump from her latest bender, Caroline gulped root beer pretending it was 12 years old. "So tell me more about these horses, D. I love horses."

"You too? I had a horse growin' up." Dahlia popped the top off a beer can and sat on a stool behind the bar, hoping to settle into conversation until patrons poured in.

"Wow, that must have been something." Caroline momentarily wondered about a bartender who had her own horse as a kid. "Where do you come from?"

"England, here and there."

"My father's from England originally," Caroline informed. "My parents were actually the first in our whole family to come to the U.S."

"No kiddin'?"

"Yep. I was the first Barker to be born here."

"England, huh? What part?"

"London."

Dahlia sang, reminding Caroline again of 'Sweeney Todd.' "But there's no place like London." The ladies chuckled, as Dahlia guzzled her beer and lit up a cig. "You ride horses, Carr?"

Riley set a hot-peppered pizza in front of Caroline, who pulled at a slice and talked with a mouth full of cheese. "Me? Naaa." She stared for a moment, pondering the question and recalling a birthday party she'd rather forget. "I … almost … did … once."

"Almost?" Dahlia asked. "What happened?"

"Oh," Caroline made it seem like she didn't want to talk with a mouth full of pizza, "just … didn't." Her face instantly reddened.

"Them peppers too hot for ya? Can we gitcha something else?"

"I haven't had any yet. So, Dawna T's … can adults go there, too?"

Riley again joined the conversation. "Yep. I love going there. I only been there once, this past summer. Learned a little about riding. Dawna T. is so nice."

Dahlia added, "Yeah and her husband's a lookuh, I'll tell ya that." Caroline gulped more root beer and chuckled at Dahlia's ever-present boy craziness. "No kiddin', that Jackson T? Mmm-mmmm. I seen 'im riding those horses, joltin' up and down, and for a second or two, I fancied me-self one of 'em!"

As the ladies all burst into laughter, Caroline's animated gesturing sent her entire pitcher of root beer off the table. "Oh no! I am so sorry!"

Dahlia launched an impressive street whistle, and a bus boy came running. "No problem at'all." She poured another pitcher and handed it to the waitress. "Riley, give this to Carr, will ya?"

Riley retrieved the pitcher and set it on the table. As her first night on the job was the night of Caroline's drunken display just weeks previous, she said, "Root beer. You got more willpower than I do, girl." Dahlia threw an angry glare at Riley for the insensitive reference to Caroline's alcoholism.

Just glad to have friends who cared enough to help her stay on the wagon, Caroline answered, "For today anyway." She touched Riley's hand. "Thanks."

Still bent on redirecting the discussion, Dahlia said, "Hey! You're due to open soon, aintcha, Carr?"

Feeling the constant pressure of an impending grand opening, Caroline immediately returned with a date. "April Fool's Day."

Dahlia thought for a second. "I'm looking forward to it. And Lord knows we need more businesses in 'is little town, but ... well … I'm just not sure you should call it that."

Since the place wasn't busy yet, Riley pulled out a chair at Caroline's table and looked over to her boss for permission. Dahlia nodded, and Riley sat down, rebutting, "I love the name. Love it!"

"Well," Caroline grinned, "it's kind of an ode to my ex-husband."

"Yeah?" Dahlia tossed her empty beer into the trash, grabbed another, and joked, "He was a cold bitch, was he?"

"Apparently, you're looking at the cold bitch."

"Oh, bloody 'ell. We's all bitches, Carr, cold or otherwise."

The ladies laughed and talked awhile longer until patrons began filling the joint. "Well, Riley, old girl," Dahlia sighed, "time to get back to work."

The waitress hopped up from the chair, pushed it in neatly, then pulled a notepad from her pocket and a pen from behind her ear. "You got it." She turned back to Caroline. "Good luck on your opening, whatever you decide to call it."

"Thanks. And good luck with your new place." Now sitting alone, Caroline nibbled at her pizza and turned awkward attention to the bar's TV.

Top of the hour, a new show came on and a captivating male voice narrated. "A young fireman's untimely death raised suspicions. When a young policeman died the same way, it was no coincidence."

The familiar theme song played to one of Caroline's favorite forensic documentary series. She'd seen this one before and remembered the case. Reviewing the few details she could recall, she perked up her ears to learn more. "Could you turn it up, please, D?" Unable to hear above fast-drinking patrons, the bartender went about her usual pouring and flirting. "Dahlia!"

"Yeah, luv?"

"Could you turn up the telly a bit?"

"Sure thing." Dahlia grabbed the remote from under the bar and clicked the volume. With a momentary lull in business, she stood by and listened. "Ooooo! Forensic Files. One'a me favorite shows."

"Mm-hmm." Caroline's attention was square on the voice-over's haunting narration.

_"One of his friends found him sprawled on the kitchen floor, vomiting and incoherent."_

Dahlia cut in. "Ts ts. I remember this one. She killed two 'usbands the same way. Pretty evil, that one."

Lost in a case that sounded eerily close to home, Caroline couldn't hear a word that didn't come from that screen. Reports from police, coroners, and victims' loved ones thundered through her subconscious.

_"She made him sweet tea."_

_"His condition deteriorated."_

_"A sign of poisoning."_

_"Ethylene glycol … the chemical name for antifreeze."_

_"Antifreeze was in the tea. Within a day, he was dead."_

"More root beer?" Riley stood at Caroline's table, awaiting an answer. "Carr?" She snapped her fingers, but got nothing from the lady, noting tears dropping onto her plate as she stared at the television. Riley had no clue what had sent this nice lady into a somber trance, but it had to be something on that TV show. The waitress called to the bartender. "Uh, that aint exactly dinner theater, Dolly."

Dahlia threw Riley a bewildered look and shrugged her shoulders. "Huh?"

Riley's eyes shot sideways to a weeping Caroline. "Change the channel, please, luv."

_27_

The Cold Bitch was finally about to make her grand entrance. Fortunately, Caroline had all but forgotten those pre-grand-opening, round-the-clock work days. Otherwise, she might not have pursued the new business at all. "_Then where would I be?"_ In the wake of so much hell in her life, she considered the alternatives, all of them bad.

_"Thank God for work,"_ she thought. And, doing it all on her own, there certainly was a lot of it. She even had to move her probe into Mom's true cause of death to a back burner. Her rising suspicions wouldn't stay on that back burner for long, and she wouldn't let them, but for now, minding the store was all she had time for.

Caroline continued executing finishing touches, again singing along with her crackling 'Sweeney Todd' record. As she listened to that rascally cosmetologist croon of lost love and retribution, she imagined herself avenging wrongs, mostly those done by her evil ex-husband. Ahh, how much easier it was to work with a song in her heart and a knife at Jerry's throat.

"Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around. Nothing's gonna harm you, no sir, not while I'm around." Lost in duets with protective boys and pernicious devils, Caroline realized she'd been working from wee hours to wee hours.

"_That's enough for today_." She had left the store right before dinner, which meant she'd been working at home for another nine hours past it. Bringing work home was unavoidable at this stage of the game, but now it really was time to rest.

She powered down her computer and switched off the banker's lamp. Still in need of some time to wind down before bed, she headed to the living room for a softer chair and fell into it. She pulled at a blanket that was trapped between the chair and her back and draped it around her shoulders. She closed her eyes, singing softly to the last tune on side one.

"Demons'll charm you with a smile for a while, but in time, nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around."

As the record finished, Caroline sat listening to its crackles until silence amplified the needle picking up and moving to its original position. She thought, "_Time to change the record."_ Exhausted from the near 24-hour work day, she decided nestling into the chair was a better idea. She snuggled deeper into its plush comfort, her head nodding as the stereo clicked off.

Another song came on. Its smooth sound floated to Caroline's sleep and whispered her awake. "Oh, what can I tell you now, Caroline? Should I hurt your feelings or keep on lyin'?"

_"Jefferson Starship. Teddy's favorite song."_ She softly cried and accompanied the tenor voice. "Cause somewhere out there, waitin' on a wonder, you'll lend wings to my words. Somewhere-"

But wait. What was this? It wasn't somewhere out there. It was in here. She hadn't moved. She hadn't put on a new record. The stereo had clicked off. Caroline froze as the singer's tenors deepened to breathy baritones.

"You always fill my eyes with tears."

And that singing breath—it wasn't somewhere out there either. It was in here. It was in her ear. She jolted at the realization, just as boy-scout arms enveloped her.

"Don't cry, Caroline."

_28_

"You're even more beautiful than I remembered, Beautiful."

Ted ran his fingers over her steaming, shimmering skin, reaching up to her long, soft neck. He whispered, "I dreamed of this, every night, every day." Holding her face with both of his strong, tender hands, he delicately rubbed his stubbly beard over her cheeks and eyes.

Exquisitely enraptured at not having to hold back, Caroline grasped his body and held it captive, closer than she'd ever held another. Finally freed of Jerry's prison, her love for Ted now ripely completed, she found a sense of unencumbered refuge with him. "_He's really here,"_ she thought, over and over. As they breathed rhythmically, moved rhythmically, pulsed in concert, she recognized no distinction between her heartbeat and his. Finally, they were together, never to be apart again. She grasped every part of him with a gentle frenzy, and he returned with a soft fire that assured he would never, ever leave her. "_This is how love should be."_

Caroline rolled on her side, confident his arms would follow, forever encompassing her. Ted closed around and through her, leaving no room between them. No earthly thing would ever come between them. He hotly whispered the song that had been playing for hours, the same thoughts he'd needed to convey for months.

"Caroline, you're what I want more than anything else ... nothing is real but my feelings and desires for you."

_29_

Everything and nothing surprised him about her. Mystery, paradox, riddle—these were all words that rightly described his lady. 'You get me,' she'd said more than once, but Ted knew there was no solving a sphinx. She mystified him, and he would have it no other way.

But some questions just had to be asked.

"So … the Cold Bitch, huh?"

Up to here with root beer, Caroline blew bubbles through a straw, her eyes sealed on Ted's. "Yup."

He laughed, always beguiled by her whimsy. He squinted his eyes, scrunched his lips, and cocked his head. "You sure you wanna go that way?"

Her eyes still fixed on his, she blew him a kiss, then blew again into her straw. "Yuh-huh."

In search of a little more seriousness, Ted reached out and gently lifted her chin. "Are you absolutely, positively certain?"

She stared into her glass. Focusing on that last bubble popping, she answered, "Nope." She rolled her eyes away, then rolled them back into an earnest gaze at his, watching him toss his head backward in laughter. How she'd longed to see him do that in the many months they'd been apart.

Caroline listened intently to every one of Ted's prudent arguments. She closed her eyes, meditated, deliberated. At last, he convinced her that such a title—'the Cold B,' as her boy-scout referred to it—might not create the impression she was hoping for. "_Funny,"_ she thought. "_A dozen other people have tried to get me to change the name."_ Ted's case for a different epithet for her new business was the only one that had persuaded her. In truth, it was the only one that mattered.

The evening's temperature had risen and fallen. Their love had recovered, reignited, restored. And the discussion had gone from seductive, to amusing, to moderately serious, back to seductive, all the while the room's elephant staring them in the face. Not taking her eyes from his, Caroline stroked Ted's hair and whispered, "That night, when you told me all those horrible things you've been through-"

"Mmhmm," Ted murmured, suspecting the discussion's direction.

"Even through all that, I could see a sparkle in your eyes." She watched his eyelids deliberately shut in on themselves. "It's not there anymore." She watched further, as his lips quivered and pain comprised him. "Are you ever gonna tell me?"

Still clutching his beloved's hand, Ted turned his back to her, this time expecting her arms to envelop him, which they did, absent all fear of rejection. Caroline's only fear now lay in what he was about to reveal.

_30_

"How was it? You guys have fun?" Ted shouted out the window as he saw the boys swing open the wide wooden gate. He sat for a moment, watching them drag their feet in the direction of his car. "_Damn_," he thought. "G_uess they didn't have a good time."_

He'd had such high hopes for this. Since returning to his son five years earlier, Ted had recognized his boy's struggles with making friends, with just being a kid. It was all so painful for the guilt-ridden father that he constantly searched for ways to help his son come out of his shell, just be a happy, well-adjusted boy. When Chip and his best pal, Tim, had come to him with this idea, Dad was all for it.

Ted waited a bit longer but the boys were making slow progress, so he shut off the engine and exited the car. "You need some help carrying those things?" He walked toward them and reached out to assist with their heavy backpacks. "Guys?"

Chip stopped. Eyes fixed on the ground, he stood expressionless, letting the bag dangle at his side. Tim stopped and stood with him. "Here, buddy, lemme help." Chip picked up his head and glanced for just a second into Tim's eyes, then pulled his head away, dropped his backpack, and escaped to the car.

"Hey!" Ted shouted, as his son brushed past him. Chip ran to the car and jumped in through the front passenger door. His usual place shotgun to his dad, he instead hurled his body over the seat. Ted stood puzzled, as he watched Chip slump down in the back seat and stare out the window. Turning to his son's pal, he said, "What was that all about? Was it that bad?"

Not looking at Mr. Morrison, Tim shrugged his shoulders and walked to the car. He stood opposite Chip and knocked once for him to unlock the door. "Hey, Coop." He waited for a few seconds, then bent and called into the window. "Cooper, ya got it, man?" Chip sat still, rested his head on his shoulder, and shut his eyes.

"I got it, Timmy," Chip's dad said, pulling out the car's remote. He clicked it twice, and Tim opened the back driver's side door. "Hey, why don't you gimme that one, too. I'll throw 'em both in the trunk." Ted grabbed the other backpack, walked behind the car, opened the trunk, and nestled the bags inside. He shut the door and went around to Chip's window. "Hey, kiddo," he knelt and knocked on the window, "you all right?" Chip didn't answer. Ted stood for a moment, squinted his eyes at his son's odd behavior, then walked around to the driver's side and got in. He sat for another moment. "You guys eat breakfast yet?" Twisting his body around and draping his arm across the seat, he added, "I just had chocolate chip pancakes. You hungry?" Neither boy answered. "We can go back there, if that sounds good to you guys. I'm always up for more coffee." Still no answer, he turned to the windshield, let out a big sigh, and started up the car. He looked through the rearview mirror and stared at his son, who now had his head turned to the back window. Ted thought for a second about the wonderful night he'd just had, meeting the woman of his dreams, but now this.

_"What the hell happened at that summer camp?"_

_31_

"Stop slamming that thing!" Ted chased after Chip, who poised his finger to lock the door. Dad turned the knob and pushed. He stuffed his foot in the doorway and shoved his way inside. "I've told you before about slamming that door! What the hell's going on with you?" Chip grabbed his headphones and headed for his bed. Ted grabbed them from his hands. "Theodore!"

"Don't call me that!" Chip pushed past his father. "Don't ever call me that damned name! I hate that fu-"

Chip's words got stuck as Ted's open palm hit his cheek. He grabbed his son and pulled his head to his shoulder. "I'm sorry! Forgive me, forgive me," he repeated the desperate plea over and over.

Barely looking at his father, Chip gently lifted his head. "Dad, it's okay. I'm sorry, too."

Father and son stood for a time. Ted touched his hand over his boy's face and pushed his long hair off it. "You gotta talk to me." His chin quivered as he whispered. "Son, you know you can trust me." Clasping Chip's hand, he guided him to his bunk and motioned for him to sit on the bed while he knelt beside it. As Chip's head bowed to his chest, Ted bent forward to look up at him. He brushed his son's tousled bangs from his eyes. "Chip. Son. Please don't push me out of your life. We've only got each other. Please." Fearing his son was about to turn away again, he gently reached out and cupped his chin. "It was that camp, wasn't it?" Chip yanked his face from his father's grasp. "Chip!" As this was the farthest he'd gotten in weeks, he calmed his demeanor, not wanting to lose ground. "You haven't been the same since you got back. That was a month ago. Please tell me what happened." He relented his anger still further and gently placed his hands on his boy's shoulders. "Was it the other kids? Did somebody say something? Did they do something?" He could feel his son again trying to pull away. He released his grip and softly touched Chip's hand. "For God's sake, I'm your father. Please trust me. I love you." Chip bent his body to the bed and rolled over. Ted whimpered, "Dear God, I've tried everything. Theo- … Chip. Chip, please!" He lowered his head and began crying. "You're all I have."

Chip rolled back over to look at his father. He watched in despair as Dad concealed his face in the bed, yanking at his hair and beating his fists on his head. The boy reached his arm out and grasped his father's fists. "Dad. Please don't." He touched his father's shoulder. "Please don't do that. Don't cry. I love you, too." He could barely hear his father's muffled words as they hit the blankets.

"I can't take it. I can't take you pushing me away." Face still buried in sheets, Ted reached above his head, grabbed his son's hands, and clutched them tightly. "Whatever happened, I should have-"

"Dad, don't." Chip pulled his hand away, sniffled in hard, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I'll tell you."

Ted picked up his head. He waited for a moment to give his boy time to speak, but instead watched him turn away again. Terrified of losing this chance, he stroked his son's back with near imperceptible touch and said, "That's okay. You don't have to look at me when you say it." He shivered as he observed his boy, wondering what on Earth could have been so terrible, what on Earth he was about to say.

Chip closed his eyes, then opened them and stared out the thin bedroom curtain to the moonlight. He ran his hand lightly over the silky fabric. He grasped the edge with a fist, then released it in favor of a pillow, clutching it to his stomach. He curled his body on the bed. Fearful of hearing and fearful of not hearing, Dad braced himself and readied with his most unconditional fathering. Finally, Chip spoke. "Dawna T. … she-" He breathed loud and hard. Without a tear, he continued, "She and Jackson … they … touched-"

_32_

Ted stopped the story in the same place, in the same way his son had. He stared at the whirling fan above, faintly singing a soft, fragile tune.

"I know that old song," Caroline related. "That's Nick Drake."

"Northern Sky. Chip's favorite," he answered, nearly inaudible to her.

Caroline heard Ted gasp, unable to catch his breath. As she reached out to help, he sucked air in so hard it seemed his lungs would never fill. She shut her eyes tight, unable to watch as the man she loved coiled, interring his body in blankets. She moved closer to envelop him, hoping for extraordinary powers of protection. "_I'm too late,"_ she like last time, she knew there was more to the story. She held her love for nearly half an hour, as he lay scarcely breathing but for an isolated lament now and again. At last, he inhaled and continued.

_33_

It had been one month since 11-year-old Theodore Jefferson Morrison the Fourth, 'Chip' or 'Cooper' to family and friends, had revealed the torment a young boy should never know. And it's the kind of torment that can go unseen, even overlooked, in boys. Yes, the teacher and her husband had molested them. The summer camp was merely their twisted mechanism to draw in boys for their depravity. Vigilant and inexhaustible, devoted-father Ted had consoled, even begun alleviating, the fears and sorrows that had besieged his reason for living. He'd found a counselor who had begun helping the broken boy on his grueling road to recovery. Five nights a week at first, then three, now Chip was finally beginning to show slight signs of improvement.

"I'm headed out." Chip grabbed the lunch his father had packed for him and yelled down the hallway, awaiting an answer. "Dad- oh my gosh, you scared me!" Father had jerked around the corner just as son had done the same. "I'm gonna head out, 'kay?"

"Hold on," Ted replied, stopping to put on his other shoe. "Wait. Are you taking the bus? Aren't you gonna wait for me?" Ted had been driving his son to school for the past month, ever since the doctor had suggested it.

"Naah," Chip replied. "I'm okay to take the bus, I think. 'Sides, I think Tim's feeling kinda lonely on it without me."

Ted squinted at his son, wondering if this was the right thing, but then recalled the doctor's words. "_Don't pull in the reins too tight."_

"Well, if you're sure you-"

"Dad," Chip patted his father's arm, "it's just a bus ride. Get a grip, 'kay?"

"Okay. I'm okay." Ted stopped to look in the living room mirror and tie his tie. "And Tim's gonna walk you to your appointment like always, right?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm trying to-" Chip redirected the subject. "Yeah, he's got my back."

"You're trying to what?"

"Uh, can't remember what I was gonna say. Anyhow, I'll see ya later." He zipped a side pocket on his backpack, heaved it over his shoulder, and turned to the front door. Turning back to his dad, he said, "You work tonight, right?"

Since the night of Chip's disclosure, Ted had resolved that rearranging his schedule was essential to his son's recovery. Working days when he was in school and staying home all night was the best way for Dad to support the boy while he worked his way past the hardest part of it. However, with the thieving night manager's arrest four days prior, Ted now had no choice but to work the hours himself. "The new manager can't start 'til Monday, so I'm gonna have to do it just for the weekend. Is that okay? Mrs. Tieg's gonna stay with you."

"That's cool. I like her. Dad, don't worry so much, please." Chip checked his watch. "Crap! I'm gonna miss the bus. Gotta go!" He gave his father a peck on the cheek and dashed out the door.

"Love you!" Ted shouted to his son.

"Love you too!" Chip yelled back to his dad, and he was gone.

_34_

Her eyes darted to the sound. It was a shriek the pretty young Briton would later describe as the most ghastly torment she'd ever heard. Seeing her boss drop his phone and run, she rushed to the door. "Teddy!" She watched him race off, no idea if he was running toward or away from something.

The doctor explained, "He slipped into that coma and never came out."

_35_

The bus driver turned into the school's driveway. Like always, she slowed the bus to a stop and pulled back its long arm to open the door. Front right their usual seat, Tim stood and stepped back for his best bud to go first.

"Thanks, man." Chip grabbed his backpack from off the floor, slid across the seat, jumped the three steps and out the door.

Tim followed. "Hey, how 'bout after your appointment tonight, we head to my house? Since your dad's working, my mom said it'd be okay if you spend the weekend."

"Great idea!" Chip returned. "And maybe you can come with me to-"

"Aint gonna happen. I'm fine, I told you."

"Sure. You're fine. I'm fine. We're all fine. We just-"

"Stop. I mean it. Hey, I got that new game. We can play all weekend, if you want. We'll get pizza. Call your dad, 'kay?" Tim followed Chip to his locker and stood by.

"I'll text 'im." Chip shut his locker and followed Tim to his. "I'll do it in homeroom." The boys loaded necessary books into their backpacks, again thrust the heavy bags over their shoulders, and headed to room 116.

The substitute stood in the doorway. "Mr. Bennett won't be back until next semester. I believe he broke his leg skiing, or fractured it, or some such silliness."

As Tim approached the door to homeroom, he recognized a figure and a voice, both of which he and his buddy were trying hard to forget. "_What the hell?"_

The camp owners were a prominent couple in the town, with a family tree that dated back centuries. And when they married, their adjoining family farms were merged, making them an even more powerful force in the community. The people of the town revered them for their thriving business and philanthropy. Precious few really knew them.

_"Dawna T. God, no."_ Tim knew she was a substitute teacher, but he never dreamed this could happen. He thought, "_Chip can't handle this." _

"Hey, Coop, what say we blow this homeroom thing this morning?" He gently pushed his friend, attempting to redirect his attention down the hall. "Let's go see if Val and Jen are in the auditorium."

"What's your problem?" Chip returned. "We can't skip." He shrugged his shoulder to get Tim's hand off it. "Come on," he added, turning back to their homeroom. As more students piled into the room, the substitute turned her head, revealing her identity. Chip stopped dead.

"Theodore!" The indecent woman breathed heavily, sliding her hand over her neck. "Theodore, my goodness. How are you, dear?"

Tim patted Chip's shoulder. He leaned in closer. "Come on, Cooper. It's okay." He moved to situate himself between his best pal and the depraved schoolmaster, guiding him past her with an arm still on his back.

Dawna T. watched as Chip walked in. She watched as he walked beyond her. She watched as he walked to his front-row desk. She watched as he stood, back turned to her. She grinned, bent slightly toward him, and whispered loudly, "I've missed you, Theodore."

Chip removed the backpack from over his shoulders. He stared at the floor, his chest heaving. He felt tears well in his eyes. He jerked his head and forced them back. He turned to face the wickedness.

The word thundered through his head. "_Theodore. Theodore."_ He looked up and viewed her vile grin. He lifted the weighty backpack, held it for a moment to his chest, and repositioned it in his hands for better grip. He closed his eyes, stepped his right foot back and, with every ounce of power in his body, he launched the heavy book bag at his tormenter. The bag slammed into her shoulder, tipping her backward into the desk. Chip ran past her and out the door.

"Cooper!" Tim sped as fast as he could after his troubled friend.

Chip ran, hall after hall, pushing past teachers, shoving students. He ran through the great doors that were still secured open. He ran up through the grass, out the schoolyard, down the road, out of Tim's sight.

_36_

"The phone call," Caroline whispered. She felt him shiver and clutch her hand to his chest.

"Police."

Caroline stumbled for words. "He-" She winced as Ted clenched her hand even tighter. His grasp was much too tight now, but she had no intention of letting him know it.

"A cop saw Chip running. Cohler Bridge." Caroline choked, releasing an anguished moan. "My boy was a runner," Ted continued. "He was looking forward to trying out for the track team next year. He was fast." He released a single, awkward chuckle. "I was so happy he'd found something he could do so well. Turned out … hmph."

He flipped his body over, letting go of her hands. His blanket dropped to the floor. He lay still. In the cold March morning, Caroline climbed onto his shivering body, reaching over him to the other side. She pulled the blanket from off the floor and draped it over him. Motionless and oblivious to what she'd done, he said, "My boy … he was just too fast for that cop. He ran to the bridge." The heartsick father breathed in and out, in and out, as though keeping himself from retching. "He climbed up. Jumped."

Caroline could feel her eyes almost in spasms as the tears clouded her vision, soaking through her lashes. Unable to see his face now, she sobbed as she felt Ted sob. She closed her body around him, resting her forehead against his back. As her beloved shuddered in abject agony, she could sense her very cells swelling with rage. "_Evil people,"_ she thought, even her thoughts weeping inside her head. "_Evil people must pay."_ She wanted to find a gun, right now, right this second. "_Must must must pay."_

She heard the words to the song in her head. _"Nothin's gonna harm you, not while I'm around."_ She cried, not just for what he'd been through, yet another loved one who'd been stolen from him … "_and so senselessly"_ … but because she hadn't been able to shield him. Something had harmed him, again … but she hadn't been around.

"By the time I got to the hospital, my little boy was already gone."

_37_

"What do you mean, there's no evidence?!" Caroline couldn't grasp two such wicked creatures getting away with their evil deeds.

"None of the other boys'll come forward," Ted exhaled. "I can't say I blame 'em."

"What about Tim?"

"He … said it didn't happen to him."

"And you believe that?!"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, Caroline. I already went to the police. They talked to the camp owners. They talked to the boys who went there last summer. They talked to their parents, searched the house, the stable, the camp, everything. They searched Chip's room, his backpack. After he … died, they read his journal."

"And?"

"There was nothing."

"I don't get it. He kept a journal? What do you mean, there was nothing?"

"Nothing after he got to that camp. Blank."

"Wait. Nothing? After the-"

"Yeah. I know. I told 'em, doesn't that tell you something? Doesn't that mean anything? They said it doesn't. It's not proof. They closed the case. Or put it in the cold files, I don't know. Said they'll keep their eyes on them. Ha. Funny, isn't it? Those two? Keep their eyes on them. Dawna T. and her husband. They're pretty damned powerful in this town."

Caroline felt her rage taking over again. Every time she felt the accumulated pain from her past, and every time she felt Ted's pain, she could feel herself getting closer and closer to that boiling point. "That is exactly what Harrison Marr said. 'I'm pretty powerful around here. You think anyone will believe you over me?' And damned if he wasn't right." She felt her muscles tightening, from her toes and her feet, up to her ankles, up through her shins, her thighs, into her hips, her stomach. Every muscle stiffened. She could nearly feel her heart muscle hardening within her chest. Her head shook with wrath. She clenched her teeth, moved in behind Ted's ear, and whispered, "We have to stop them. We have to stop those two monsters."

Ted forced back tears. "I can't take this anymore, Caroline." She shivered as she heard a terrifying wail come out of her beloved. He buried his head in the pillow. "I've spent the past half year crying, drinking, cry-"

"I'm so sorry, Rome. I'm sorry." She wrapped her arms in fists around him. "I'm sorry I made you tell me this."

Ted turned over and engulfed himself with her. It reminded her of his mysterious disappearance, of the ache that overtook her as she walked through his house, of how often she'd wondered where he was, what had happened that was so awful. _"It was so much worse than I imagined."_ She had to remind herself over and over that his anguish was not about her anger. It was about the hell he'd experienced and the pain he was going through. She wrapped herself as tightly as she could around him and kissed his eyelids, licking his tears.

"Where've you been, baby? Where on Earth have you been all these months?"

Ted reached under the pillow for his handkerchief. He pulled it out, blew his nose, and wiped his entire face of tears. "When that idiot said there was nothing more he could do, they were closing the case, I drove all the way to the liquor store outside town. I blew half my paycheck that night. Tequila, gin, vodka, brandy. Even some of Trudy's favorite fruity wine. I musta bought a hundred bottles that night."

He lay next to Caroline on the bed and stared past her. "I drove home. Sat in my car for, I don't know, at least an hour. Just sitting there in the driveway." He sighed and threw his blanket to the floor, again exposed to the frigid morning air. For the second time, Caroline covered his unaware, shivering body. "I finally got out of the car, went inside, got my gun."

"Dear God."

"I figured, why the hell not? I had nothing to lose at that point. Hell, I'm still on parole, not even supposed to have a gun. But there it was, right in my hands. Ready." Caroline moved in as close as she could get and held his head to her heart as he spoke in a trance. "I drove out to that camp. Two hours back the other way, other side of town. I sat there all night. Drank four or five bottles sitting there. Of what, I don't know. Coulda been that fruity shit, I have no idea. I just sat there, in my car, staring at that house, wondering how I could get in.

"At first, I pictured myself tying them up, torturing them. Then I wondered what in hell they could be doing in there. Was there anybody in there with them? Some boy … like my boy? I sat there with my gun in my lap. I cocked the trigger every now and then. Put it to my head once or twice, too. When it started to get light out, I just started up the car again and drove home. That was six months ago." He repositioned onto his back. "I don't remember much after that."

Caroline looked at him, half of her staring at the man she loved, the other half glaring at the man who'd failed to do what was necessary. "Why didn't you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Shoot those two sickos."

Ted turned on his side to look into her eyes. Moving in closer, he touched his tears to her cheek and whispered, "I think it was this—seeing you again." She sighed and buried her head under his neck, tranquil at having him home again and forgiving him, his failure. "It was as though we were meant to meet that night. Like God knew I'd need someone … who'd … who would … give me, I don't know, a reason to live, something to come back to." The tears began pouring again. "Something that would stop me from killing those two pedophile freaks."

_38_

"No honeymoon for you two lovebirds?"

Caroline thrust her arms around the man to whom she'd given her heart, and with whom she'd recently made it official. "Just having him back is honeymoon enough, Dolly." She clutched Ted's face with one hand and squeezed his cheeks together. "Look at that adorable face. Just look at it!"

The bride laughed as the groom reciprocated, squeezing her cheeks. "Talk about adorable faces, huh? Oooooooo!" The long line of customers to the thriving new bakery and catering shop chuckled in varying degrees at the newlyweds. Ted dipped his wife and kissed her in front of them all.

Betsy, the store's young sales-manager-in-training, giggled and shielded her eyes. "Ahh, come on. They're always doing that!"

Never one to be left out, Vito joined in the fun. "Yous're gonna make alla my soufflés drop. Now cut it out," he jerked toward the kissing couple, "or, I swear, I'll separate yous two!"

Ted released his hands from around Caroline's waist, stood tall, and straightened his shirt, staring the huge man down. "And just how are you going to do that?"

Even with a foot and a hundred pounds on the head honcho, Vito backed off. "He he. You know me, Teddy boy. I'm just an old softie."

Manager or no, Ted had never been particularly comfortable bossing anyone. He gently shoved Vito's considerable shoulder and said, "I'm just kiddin' ya, Veet." He squeezed the cook's cheeks. "And there's another adorable face!"

Dahlia stepped in to stop the madness. "All right, all right, we've all got bloody adorable faces, now, don't we?" She laughed and threw her arms around Ted. "I still can't believe you're back, old friend. I missed you so much." She reached up just as he bent down to receive a kiss. She pulled back, wiped her eyes, and sniffled. Ted reached into his back pocket, pulled up his trusty handkerchief, and held it at Dahlia's nose. She blew softly, then stopped to glare at him with feigned anger. "But don't fink I'll ever forgive ye for not invitin' me to the weddin'."

"We haven't had a wedding yet," Caroline informed. "Not enough time."

"Yeah, way too much work." Ted tossed his arm around his bride's neck. "By the time I got back, she was only two weeks from her grand opening."

"Oh, a-course," Dahlia answered, looking around the place and shaking her head. "You've done an 'ell of a job, I'll tell ye that. This place is amazin'. And the smell … luscious!" She breathed in a huge whiff of delicious foods and made like she'd faint. Vito stepped forward and caught her. He reached down, lifted her up off her feet, and placed her back on the floor. Dahlia looked backward up at the big man. "There's only one problem."

"Problem?" Ted squinted his eyes and jerked his neck. "And just what is that?"

"Ye stole me cook, that's what!" Dahlia threw her arms around Vito's huge waist. "I miss this little boy terribly. I was just beginnin' to fall for this beast!"

"Beast?!" Vito growled and pounded his chest. "Fe Fi Fo Fum," he stomped toward Dahlia, "I smell the blood … of an English chick!" Dahlia squealed as the gentle giant scooped her off her feet again, this time cradling her against his great chest. "English chick ... get it? Dat's funny."

"Put me down, you hairy ogre!" She pretended to slap him, and the line of customers buzzed with chuckles.

Vito rocked Dahlia back and forth as if to toss her out the door. "Oh, I'll put ya down," he quoted a line from a beloved old Christmas movie, "out da door or tru da winda!"

"Whoa, there," came from an unfamiliar voice that parted awaiting customers. Vito swiftly lowered Dahlia to the floor, as the voice showed its authoritative face. "Do you need assistance, ma'am?" a police officer inquired. "Is this man bothering you?"

Dahlia rolled her eyes and jumped from Vito's woolly arms. "Bloody 'ell, it's the fuzz."

"Step away from the officer, ma'am," Ted motioned to Dahlia, chuckling and extending his hand to the law. "You'll have to excuse Twiggy over here. She's still recovering from the drugs her grandparents did at Woodstock." Dahlia blew Ted a kiss and motioned goodbye, ducking and squeezing her tiny body through the line that now progressed quickly forward. Ted showed the police officer to the front of the line and shouted back, "You guys don't mind letting our boys in blue have a leg up, do ya?" The officer motioned back to his partner, who was at the end of the line. "They gotta get in and out and back to protecting the town."

The two police officers stepped inside the store, removing their hats and nodding their expressionless heads.

The older, obviously more experienced of the two motioned to husband-and-wife owners. "Morning, sir, ma'am. Nice place ya got here."

Caroline thought, _"Nice place ya got here? Talk about clichés. Wonder if his partner's Irish."_

The younger officer agreed. "Oui, c'est magnifique."

_"I'll be damned. French."_

The senior officer handed his card to Ted. "You the owner of this establishment?"

Ted accepted the card. "Cops are handing out business cards now?"

"Zat is gendarm, er, police officers, monsieur."

Caroline whispered to Ted, "Some of them don't like to be called cops, I don't think."

Ted corrected himself, reading the card. "Sorry, Sergeant, uh, Officer Norton."

The officer nudged his young partner, who shrugged and gave him a puzzled look. "Your card, Manny, your card."

"Oui, er, yes," the green officer replied. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a stack of cards, and handed them all to Ted.

"No, no," Officer Norton reprimanded. "They only need one, Manny. Get it together, will ya?"

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Take it easy."

Handing the stack of cards back to the young man, Ted glared at his wife and motioned for her to calm her inner rebel. "So, what can we get you gentlemen today?"

Officer Norton scanned the glass cases and pointed at a huge Napoleon. "Love those. Love 'em," he said. "And that one looks, wow, almost sensuous. Oh, I gotta have one of them. Manny?"

The rookie eyed the case, clicked his heels together and, emphasizing his accent, replied, "Na-pol-eee-awh … ha! Napoleon was a peeeg!" He glared at the Morrisons and squinted his eyes, as a hush came over the crowd. "But he made one 'ell of an incredible pastry, no?!"

The store released a collective sigh, followed by relieved laughter. Ted motioned to Vito. "Veet, two almost-sensuous-looking pig pastries for the officers, please." Vito reached his massive latex paw into the case, as Betsy handed him a bakery box.

"So," Officer Norton said, looking at Ted, "you aint been in this spot for long, huh?"

"Don't look at me," Ted answered. "I just work here." He motioned to Caroline. "There's your owner."

"Sorry," the officer answered. "I just assumed-"

"Yeah," Caroline interrupted, scrunching her lips in umbrage, "we know what you assumed." Ted again nudged his wife to calm her insurrection. She threw him a glare, then smiled falsely at the cops. "That is correct," she punctuated, "sir-ra. I am the owner. But," she grasped Ted's arm, "my husband is my partner, co-owner. And yes, we haven't been here long at all."

Officer Norton said, "Well, my partner and I like to go to new businesses and welcome them to the area. So," he lifted his hat, tipped it off his head, and looked to his partner to do the same, "welcome to the neighborhood." He motioned again to the young French man to accept the pastry box.

Caroline declared, "On the house, of course." Ted winked at her modified demeanor.

Officer Norton again tipped his hat in thanks. "Mr. Morrison, you, uh, look kinda familiar to me."

Ted lowered his head. "Well, sir, I'm afraid I'm no stranger to the police."

Caroline redirected. "Just some past business. Long past." She switched the subject in a hurry. "You know, officers, all of my cousins are, um," she searched for the correct phrase, "on the job. Six cousins, all police. In fact, police in my family go way back."

Ted found this new bit of information about his bride surprising. "Really? I had no idea."

"Oh yeah," Caroline answered, tossing out her hand. "Apparently, there was a pretty big scandal back a century or so ago in the family that nobody likes to talk about. Some sort of criminal behavior that caused a bit of a ruckus, is all I know. Back there in merry old England. London."

"No kidding? London, huh?" Officer Norton interjected. "Wasn't Jack the Ripper, was it?"

Caroline mused, "Hey, maybe! Geez, I never thought of that. Jack the Ripper. Hmph." She pondered it a moment, adding, "All I know is, after it all happened, my great granddaddy, or maybe great great, whatever, decided a career in law enforcement might save the family name. It's been passed down ever since. Most of my cousins are off the beat now. Detectives."

"Yeah?" Officer Norton answered. "I'm working toward being a detective myself. I'm a little nervous about it."

"So what makes you want to be a detective?" Ted asked. "You like, what, reading mysteries? Solving them?"

"Not me. Nope, for me, it's the forensic stuff."

"Forensic stuff, huh?" Caroline studied.

"You bet. I maybe seen every forensic show ever made. My favorite's Forensic Files."

At the mention of it, Caroline's affronted mind instantly dragged her to the episode she'd watched that night at the bar. "_The antifreeze was in the tea. Within a day, he was dead." _She stared off at nothing for a moment, then said, "Hey, did you see the episode about the woman who murdered two of her-"

"I guarantee," Ted interrupted, noting her sudden gravity and attempting to lighten the mood, "you have never had a Napoleon like that one, sirs." Seeing Caroline's scowl, he took her hand, winked, and added, "This is the lady who made them. Everything in here's the best you've ever had."

"That seems to be the hearsay around town," Officer Norton informed. "And nothing hot, huh? All of it cold?"

"Most everything." Caroline smirked. "Apparently, cold is my specialty."

The officer looked to the box his partner held and noted the logo printed on it. "So, the name of the place, that's some kind of saying or something, aint it?"

Caroline answered, "Indeed it is." Ted observed her advancing grin as she again stared into blankness.

"How's it go again?" the policeman asked. "A dish something … something cold?"

As the officer spoke, Caroline's mind trailed. "_The antifreeze was in the tea. Within a day, he was dead."_ Her husband watched as her expression transformed from pout to squint to grin. "Revenge."

Ted's concerned eyes widened, glaring at his wife's incomplete response. "Revenge ... is aaaaaa …." He snapped his fingers in her face.

Caroline liberated an abrupt cackle, then pointedly raised her chin, breathed in, and closed her eyes. In a fiendish voice reminiscent of scandalous ancestors, she smiled and cited, "Revenge is a dish best … served cold."

_39_

"This was our busiest day yet." Betsy rang up her last customer and followed him to the door. "Hope Jess enjoys the cakes!" she shouted to the darkness, locking the door and turning back to her boss. As Ted balanced out the last register, she stepped up beside him, resting her arms on the counter. "Sold out again. Best day yet, huh, Mr. M?" Ted coerced a smile and shook his head. "I knew it! And Veet and Mrs. M. made, like, double today! I love working here."

With only one thought in his head, Ted shut the drawer and sighed. "_Where the hell is she?" _

"Yeah," he said. "Good thing it's Sunday and we're not open tomorrow." He closed the register and packed the cash into a small brown case.

"I'm sure she's fine, Mr. M," Betsy encouraged. She gave her boss's shoulder a soft touch, then picked up a rag to join Vito in end-of-day cleaning.

Betsy was right. Caroline and Vito had begun their work early in recent days in order to cover the shop's growing client base. In fact, that morning they had baked nearly double their usual inventory, and it had all sold out. However, after she'd gone home for Bobby's noon walk, Caroline hadn't returned to fulfill her daily routine of assisting with the afternoon's rush of customers. And Ted had spent the rest of the day with his mind nowhere but on his wife's conspicuous absence.

As Betsy wiped down tables, she continued sending comforting words Ted's way, not realizing he'd gone to his office minutes before. When Vito, who was bent cleaning a pastry case, realized she was comforting a ghost, he popped his head up. "Bethy, Theddy's goh."

At the sound of Vito's garbled words, Betsy burst into laughter. "What in the world did you just say, Veet?!" As she walked around to the front of the bakery case to view him through the glass, she saw red—mounds of cherries covered Vito's mouth and teeth. She stopped and thought for a moment. "No! You ate it! You ate that little cherry tart I was saving for my husband! Oh, Veet, no."

"Well," Vito chuckled, "it is a pie hole." He covered his head and cowered behind the bakery display.

"Not funny, Veet!" Betsy laughed. She playfully hoisted her little body onto the giant's back. Hanging on with one arm, she reached her other hand around to his face, pretending to take the pie out of his mouth. "Hand it over!" Vito made like he was going to spit it into her hand. "Gross!" The large man stood, Betsy still on his back, her body now swinging and her legs dangling lower. "No!" She clutched her other hand around his neck for better grip.

At the sound of a woman's shriek, Ted ran out from his office. "What's wrong?!" He saw his employees playing and laughing and was momentarily relieved nothing bad had happened. "Oh, you guys. You scared me. I thought … oh, I don't know what the hell I thought." He scratched his head and pulled out a chair from a quaint bistro table. "I don't know where she is, guys." He sat down, resting his head on a fist.

Betsy vaulted off Vito's back and headed toward her boss, the cook following behind. She reached to pull out a chair, but the enamored Mr. Socrates stopped her. "Allow me, misses." She smiled up at him and sat in the chair, as Vito knelt next to Ted. "D'you call home, bossman?" Ted nodded 'yes.' "And she aint dere, huh?"

"Well, there's no answer." Ted replied. "Whether she's there or not, who knows." There weren't many in the little town unaware of the couple's alcoholic struggles, their staff included. They all knew what Ted was thinking.

Betsy touched her boss's hand. "Mr. M., please, you go home now. Vito and I'll close up."

Ted stared past them and shook his head. "No, I have to close. I can't-"

"I won't hear of it." Vito stood up. "Now, I'm sure Carr's at home, but you need to go dere and make sure things is okay. Okay? We got dis. Really, we do."

Betsy agreed. "Come on, you go home now, Mr. Morrison."

The boss smiled at his employees, then leaned in closer to Betsy. "I'm Ted, okay?" Betsy nodded and mouthed, 'Ted.' He thought for a moment about how blessed he and his wife were they'd found such loyal and capable staff. "And thank you, both of you."

Completely trusting of Vito and Betsy, Ted left the closing to them and headed out. "You guys know what to do." He called back as he stood at the door, "Have a good day off, and I'll see you both Tuesday morning."

Once at his car, Ted tossed his briefcase to the passenger-side floor and settled into the driver's seat. Before revving the engine, he stopped to gaze out at the soft light of the horizon, wondering just how soft that horizon really was. As he drove at the old car's top speed, he couldn't help thinking about wives—what it was like to have them and what it was like to lose them.

_40_

Nothing looked out of place, but everything felt it. And, though there appeared to be no evidence of it, even no smell of it, Ted was nonetheless keenly aware of it. It was like an alcoholic blindness that fomented all other senses, until even the hairs on the back of his neck knew—Caroline had been drinking.

_"I was afraid this would happen."_

Ever since yesterday, there'd been something in the air. When that damned cop had mentioned that damned forensic show, Ted had witnessed Caroline's hair-trigger mood shift, watching in near panic as her gears began grinding. Indeed, he knew well all of her appetites, the good ones and the bad. But this one wasn't as it should be. It wasn't about justice. It wasn't about learning her mother's true cause of death. This appetite was the wry face of … what had Caroline called it? "_Balancing the scales._"

Half expecting to see disarray, empty bottles, any usual signs of a bender, Ted stepped haltingly through each room of the house. "Caroline? Are you in here, Beautiful?" Still no evidence. There was one room left to search.

The door to the master bedroom was locked. "_Why would she do that?"_ he thought. "_She knows I can pick any lock."_ And this one was no challenge at all. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, clutched an old credit card, and held it near the top of the door. He slid the card in between the frame and the door, holding it at the perfect angle, and pushed it in. From there, it was a piece of cake. He glided the card down swiftly until he felt it jerk at the catch. As he heard the lock release, he stood still, fixed on his fear of what he might find. He lightly tapped the door open to gain a narrow view inside.

"_So far, so good."_ He tapped it again, this time harder. The slant of the old house sent the door creeking against the wall, uncovering the rest of the room. A familiar stench assaulted his nostrils.

Tripping over empties, Ted ran to his wife. She lay motionless on the bed, clenching a half-empty bottle of scotch with near cadaveric grip. At the sight of her stillness, he felt panic in his gut. He held his face at hers, feeling and listening for breathing. As her chest heaved and her eyes scrunched tighter, he murmured, "Thank God."

Relieved now, Ted turned his attention to that damned scotch. He reached out and lifted her hand, attempting to unscrew the bottle out of it. He reached out a second time, and she moaned, flipping over, catapulting her arm straight out, bottle and all. Ted ducked, but the bottle grazed his chest, inducing an instant shock of pain he knew would quickly work its way to an unsightly bruise. Still attempting to seize the bottle, he knelt on the bed and maneuvered her body.

"Mmmmm, Daddy." Caroline opened her eyes, but her husband saw no sign of his wife in them. "Why don't you read me stories anymore, Daddy?" As Ted knelt on top of her, still pulling at the bottle, Caroline opened her mouth and sighed putrid breath in his face.

"Good Lord," he blurted.

"Now I lay me down to sleep," Caroline prayed, just as she'd done with her father for the first 13 years of her life.

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep." Ted continued praying with the little girl, still trying to get her snuggled into bed. He reached under her pillow for pajamas and wrestled to get her other arm out from under the blanket.

"Daddy, those aren't my favorite jammies," the child corrected. "Where are the ones with the doggies?"

Ted struggled for words that would get her to sleep. "These are those, honey. You have your eyes closed. That's why you can't see the doggies. Now, you just keep your eyes closed and go to sleep, Caro-," he remembered something that might help. "Go to sleep, Baby Annie." He could feel tears fill his eyes as he watched the wistful smile grow on her face.

"Daddy! I missed you so much." She reached both arms out to Ted. "I love you."

As he leaned in to kiss Annie's forehead, he saw a paper in her hand. He gently tugged at it. "Daddy needs this paper, sweetie. It's … for my work."

"Sorry, Daddy. I love you."

As Ted bent in and kissed the girl's forehead, she kissed him back and released her grip. He accepted the document, brushed the hair from her face, and stared for a time at his drunk, sleeping wife.

"_Such a strong woman," _he thought._ "Such a broken little girl." _He leaned in, kissed her cheek again, and whispered, "I love you, too, Annie."

Ted covered Caroline up to her neck with her favorite down comforter and gently slid off the bed. He stopped and turned back to make sure the blanket cloaked her securely. As he leaned in close again, he delicately swept his thumb across her upper cheek to wipe away a tear. On his way out the door, he quietly pulled a pillow and blanket from an antique chest and grabbed the half-empty bottle of scotch he'd pried out of her hand.

Not wanting to disturb her, he took extra care to close the door softly and slowly. He shut the bedroom light off from the hallway so the clicking sound wouldn't wake her. He made his way to the kitchen in darkness, stood at the sink, and poured out the rest of the scotch. As he watched the heavenly beverage circle the drain in moonlight that shone through the sheer curtains, he moaned, thinking, "_Scotch and soda. Scotch and soda." _It was Caroline's drink, not his, but he couldn't stop the words from repeating in his head. "I c_ould use one of those right now."_

As the last of the scotch was sucked down the pipes, he stood staring out at the moon, wondering what tomorrow would look like. What was life going to be like with this beautiful, angry woman who'd captured, enslaved, his heart? The image of her baby face praying made him cry sad tears of joy. "_Now I lay me down to sleep,"_ he thought. "_Caroline Barker Morrison praying … quite a sight." _He chuckled, stared out at the darkness, and sighed, thinking about his new life.

Remembering the paper, he made his way back to the living room and sat in Caroline's favorite chair. He hit the power button on the remote, displaying a 24-hour news channel. "Hell, no," he exclaimed in a determined whisper, and turned his DVR to an episode of an old show that might lift his mood. He reclined the chair to its first position and read aloud. "Anastazia Grazianna Poritzia Barker."His eyes darted over the page. "Cause of death: Undetermined."

_"Dammit, I knew it."_

_41_

Ted sat in his car, the slivered moon leaving him in near darkness. He reached out and hit a button on the dashboard. One of Caroline's favorite CDs started up in the middle of a song.

"Outside the sky waits, beckoning, beckoning, just beyond the bars. How can you remain staring at the rain, maddened by the stars?"

_"That damned Sweeney Todd record,"_ he thought. He let his head fall to the headrest, listening to one of his wife's favorite laments.

"My cage has many rooms, damask and dark, nothing there sings, not even my lark. Larks never will you know when they're captive, teach me to be more adaptive."

Ted sat for a moment, wondering how in hell to adapt to his own captivities. It was something that gobbled a monstrous amount of his time recently. Finally tired of thinking about it, he reached out again, hitting randomly until his hand caught the radio button, making the tune go away. He closed his eyes, the singer's words still trilling in his head.

_"My cage has many rooms … nothing there sings … maddened by the stars."_

He sat still until chirping night sounds seeped into the car and surrounded his ear drums.

_"Oh hell."_

He felt a sickness in his stomach, as his legs dragged him out of the car to the sidewalk. The soft light from inside contrasted with the darkness, pulsating in rhythm to similar soft lights up and down the block. He swallowed a deep breath of muggy air and began walking up the stairs. Peering in the window, he saw the same view he'd seen the night before and the night before that.

_"The door won't open by itself, Ted." _He reached into his pocket for keys. "Cheating on me again, huh?" He threw the door shut and tossed his keys to air.

Caroline lay on the couch, staring at a mute TV. One foot dangled over as Bobby licked her toes. "You jealous? You could come over here and-"

"I'm talking about this!" Ted scooped up empty bottle after empty bottle, off the floor, off a side table, off his wife's favorite chair, throwing them onto the sofa at her feet. "Jim Beam! Jose Cuervo, Jack-"

"What the hell is your problem?!" Caroline shrieked, jumping off the couch as empties attacked her legs. She fell to the floor, kneeling in a praying position over the sofa.

Ted stood gazing at his drunken beloved, her beauty hidden by weeks of scotch and soil. He glared at her until the pitiable sight before him became his own past wretchedness. He knelt at her side, crying and stroking her sticky hair. "Oh, babe. What is this?" Through tears, he chuckled and moved in close to her ear. "I miss you, Beautiful."

She pulled away from him. "You too, huh?" She stretched her body out to the end of the couch to search bottles, bringing them up to her mouth, lapping up as much relief as she could get.

"Me too what?" Ted leaned toward her and grabbed for any sign of his wife.

"Everybody's the same!" she shouted, escaping his clutches. "All of you! You all only love the beautiful Caroline, the rich Caroline, the-"

"How can you say that to me? Me?!" Ted grabbed for her again, but she twisted out of his grasp, running to every cabinet in the house, flinging open doors and rifling through knick knacks.

Finally, Ted was able to stop her pathetic pursuit. He swept his bride up, cradling her close as she cried into his shoulder. He carried her to the couch, carefully lifted one foot to kick bottles off it, then settled his wife onto her favorite comforter. Kneeling beside her, he brushed the grimy hair out of her eyes and moved in to touch their faces together. "Babe, I love you. You." He lightly tousled her gummy hair. "The real, messy, sticky you. The good, the bad, yes, and the-"

"Ugly? You think I'm ugly?"

Ted chuckled and pulled his head back to look at the whole picture. "Well, you've looked better, that's for sure." He looked into her eyes with a tender smile.

Caroline threw her arms around her husband's neck. "You think I'm ugly, and you still love me. I love you!"

_42_

"I can't run the whole business alone!" Ted positioned his body to block the door to the master suite.

"Who the hell asked you to?!"

"You! You did, when you-" Caroline pushed at her repressive husband, then stopped, turned, and headed back to the master bath. Ted ran after her. "Don't do it! I know where you've hidden every single bottle!"

Caroline dove forward to dodge Ted's grasp. She could see him from the corner of her eye as he sprang forward. In attempt to elude him, she fell to her belly like a serpent, creeping her arms and legs along the carpet in a literal bar crawl. Catching a glimpse of her desperation in a full-length mirror, she ceased her alcoholic quest. Exhausted, she rolled onto her stomach and froze. "I can't do it. I can't. Baby, I can't stop." She buried her face in the floor, held her arms over her head, and sobbed.

Ted dashed to his wife's side. He dropped to the floor, throwing an arm and leg up over her. "You don't have to, Beautiful. You never have to do it alone again." He gently rolled his body up onto hers, pushed the hair away from her ear, and whispered, "You'll never lose me, my love, not ever. I just don't want you to lose your business. You've worked so hard, and it's doing so well. The whole town's talking about the amazing food at Served Cold." He rested his head on the back of hers. "You don't want to lose that, do you?" With a gentle nudge of her body, he could feel that she wanted to roll over. He slid onto the floor and turned to face her.

"Caroline," he sang softly, delicately stroking her face, "you always fill my heart with wonder. You always fill my soul with love." He could feel her acquiesce to his tenderness. She moved her body in closer and wrapped her legs around him. "You always fill my lips with kisses." She barely breathed, whispering every other word in accompaniment. He could feel her sobs, no evidence of their slowing. "I know," he said. "I know about it."

She pulled back and looked into his face. "You know about what?"

He stared into her eyes and held her face, gently rubbing his thumbs across her cheeks. "I saw your mom's autopsy. Undetermined."

She pushed his body off her. "You think you know what I'm thinking?" Attempting to stand, she stumbled and tripped. "You always think you know what I'm thinking. Ha!" She straightened up, untwisted her blouse, took three giant steps to the door, and escaped.

"What now? What did I do now?" He ran after her, down the stairs and into the living room.

Caroline sat on the sofa, holding Bobby close. She looked into her pup's tiny, hairy, non-judgmental face and kissed his little snout over and over. She sighed as she listened to her husband's footsteps hitting the stairs, the landing, and finally stopping at the doorway. She shut her eyes tight, listening to her pup rumble contently. "Jerry murdered my mother and he tried to kill me."

_43_

"I was dumb enough to think he'd changed. Little did I know what he was really capable of." As Caroline resituated her body on the sofa, Bobby wriggled out of her grip, now occupied with whatever occupies dogs.

Ted stood in the doorway, stunned at her accusation. "You don't really believe … Caroline, why? I mean, I know-"

"Trust me on this." She searched the area around the couch.

Ted again ran to his wife's side. "You looking for that quilt your mom made?" She shook her head, and her doting husband dashed behind the sofa for the blanket. He pulled it up from between cushions and draped it over her loosely, then moved to the front of the sofa to scrunch it more securely around her body. He knelt and reached out to touch her face. "I'm listening."

"Mom was living with us after … my baby-"

"Yeah." Recognizing the tortured expression of a childless parent, Ted sat on the sofa with the grieving mom. He pulled her close, as always, allowing her to unburden.

Caroline laid her head in her husband's lap and continued. "After Gracie died, Mom couldn't … she just couldn't deal with it. Well, I was almost 40 when I finally got pregnant, so, well, there was little chance of another-" She gazed into the mute television. "When Mom moved in, I'd never seen Jerry like that before." She shook her head. "Well, not never. I hadn't seen him like that since before we were married. Hell, we lived together for a year before we got married. Fat lotta good that did me." She awkwardly chuckled here and there throughout her story. "At first, before we were married, he was so loving. And not just to me, but to my mom, my friends, everybody. I can't exactly say he changed overnight." She let out a sarcastic laugh. "It took at least a month after the honeymoon for the real Jerry to come out. And only then did he make it clear, hmph, really clear, that he wanted no part of being a dad. But the funny thing was, Gracie's ... death ... it changed him. He was loving again. And it was his idea for Mom to come stay with us. He actually held us all together in those months … after. He'd sit with her when she cried. He would hold her hand." Caroline rolled over to bury her face in her husband's chest. She wiped her eyes and nose on his shirt, then sat up. "And, Ted, he made all of her food for her. Hell, I'm a chef, and he wouldn't let me lift a finger to cook for a month." She sat in silence for several moments. She discharged a startling, unnatural laugh. "Sweet tea."

Ted squinted his eyes in thought. "Sweet tea? What do you mean?"

"Forensic Files. Sweet-"

"Dear God." He'd seen the same episode of the crime documentary. "Caroline, no. You don't think … anti-"

"Yes. Antifreeze. Dammit, Ted, that lowlife was always buying more. I could never understand why. I can't believe I didn't see it before."

"But don't they make it … I mean … I thought they had to make it where you could taste it now?"

"So what are you saying? You think I'm crazy?" She climbed out of the blanket and walked briskly to her home office, Ted following behind. She frantically searched the desk. "Where is it?!"

"The autopsy?"

"Yes! What do you think I'm-"

"Here!" Ted grabbed it from a drawer and threw it at her. "Now, just what are you gonna do about it? What are you going to do, Caroline, live the rest of your life-"

"That bastard murdered my mother! And he tried to kill me, too!"

"What do you mean?"

She clutched the autopsy tight in her hand, waving it at him. "The day I left him, right before I went to my attorney, he must have known I was leaving him. He made pancakes and iced … no ... sweet … tea. Sweet tea, Ted … for breakfast."

"That is kinda weird."

"Exact—oh my gosh. Bobby!"

"What about him?"

"It never occurred to me 'til just now. Jerry got so mad at me because I wouldn't drink the tea … well, he wouldn't get his hands on my family's money, of course. But he got so mad, that he threw the whole damned pitcher against the wall, and Bobby went over and started licking it up. Ted, Bobby was sick the rest of the day!" She ran to the living room and scooped her pup up out of his bed. "He nearly killed my little boy!"

"Caroline, please-"

"Please what?! What, Ted? What do you want me to do, just forget about all this?"

"Of course not. We'll go to the police."

"Police? Ha! In that town?! That bastard's got the prosecutor wrapped around his grubby fingers." She plopped emphatically onto the sofa, rocking back and forth, stroking Bobby's hair. "Yeah, lotta good the cops did you, huh? And a lotta good they'll do me. It'll be Harrison Marr all over again."

"Harrison Marr? Wait. Didn't you tell me he's in prison now?"

"Yeah. Ha! Cozi Center. Funny name for a prison, aint it?"

"Seriously?" Ted thought for a moment. "That's only a couple hours' drive from here. Caroline, that's a maximum- security prison. Trust me, that place is anything but cozy."

"So why do they call it that?"

"I think it's named for the guy who designed it. Or maybe owns it, I don't know. Reginald or Robert, something with an R, Cozi. Spelled with an 'I'. Trust me, it's only cozy in name. That place houses the worst of the worst. Real hardened stuff. Child molesters, serial killers, seriously bad guys. They even had a death row years ago, but with the recent moratorium in this area, they commuted all their sentences to life. Most of the freaks in there would be on death row if it weren't for that moratorium."

"So what's your point?"

"What's my point? Caroline, Harrison Marr isn't exactly at a country club. Cozi's about as bad as it gets. My point is, he's paying for his crime, right?"

"Not mine! He's not paying for what he did to me!"

"So what sent him to supermax?"

"They found twenty other children he … molested. Twenty!" She held Bobby closer and brushed his softness over her face. "God knows how many more there are. He was convicted in '05. Got three hundred years."

Ted wanted to sit next to her, but he didn't dare get close right now. He instead sat in her favorite chair. "So he's in prison basically forever, then. So, what do you care if he-"

"If he's not punished for what he did to me? Are you serious?! How did you feel that that guy who killed Trudy wasn't going to pay-"

"I'm the one who paid for that, Caroline! Me! Remember?" His tone lowered and his voice cracked. "More important, my son paid. If I'd known then what I know now … look, all I'm trying to get through to you, Caroline, revenge is not the answer."

She shook her head wildly. "No. Scales need to be balanced. Huh-uh. That freak ruined my life. Harrison Marr not only stole my innocence, he stole my relationship with my father. Moratorium my ass." Her back-and-forth rocking raised to fever pitch, as she shook her head over and over. "Yeah, I'll call the police. Forget that. There'll be a trial that lasts for years. And that's if there's a trial at all."

"So what are you gonna do? And just who are we talking about here, Marr or Jerry?"

"Both!" She stopped rocking and breathed in hard. "I don't know what I'm gonna do. What do you do when the scales need to be balanced?" She squinted her whole face in contemplation, then smiled and spoke with calm, sing-songy clarity. "I … am going ... to ... equalize."

"Oh, right, your favorite TV show. The Equalizer. Hey, I know, Caroline. You can be the new equalizer." Ted waved his arms in ceremony. "An equalizer for a new age, how 'bout that?!" He froze. "Wait a minute! Oh, hell, I've got it! How 'bout this, Caroline … you can be the shequalizer!" As his voice hit a sarcastic cackle, he threw up his arms and rolled his eyes. "Equalizer. How stu-" Ted looked back at his wife, expecting to see her realization of the idea's silliness.

What he saw instead was the Grinchy grin that overtook her face. She ran her hand over her chin, whispering, "Shequalizer. I like it."

"Caroline, it was a joke!"

After placing Bobby back in his bed, she stared out the window, repeating, "Shequalizer. Shequalizer." She yanked back the curtains, stared out at nothing, then threw them back into place. She grabbed her purse, stuffed the autopsy in it, and headed for the door. "So Cozi's about two hours from here, huh?"

"Where the hell do you think you're going?! You can't drive anywhere; you're still drunk!" Ted stepped toward his wife and grabbed at her hand to possess her keys. She pushed him away, and he fell backward, catching himself before hitting the floor. He straightened up and lunged again. "Give me those keys! You're gonna kill somebody!"

Caroline snatched an empty tequila bottle off the table. Clutching keys in one hand and bottle in the other, she made a snap decision. Before her brain could catch up with her emotions, the bottle leaped from her hand and hit Ted on the cheek. He fell to the sofa, holding his face as it seeped blood.

"Baby, no!" She ran to the kitchen and returned in seconds with a first aid kit. "Rome, I'm so sorry!" She knelt at the sofa and gently nudged his body into a lying position. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. I love you." She searched the kit for tools to stop the bleeding and bandage his wound. She squeezed in between her husband's body and the edge of the couch, picking up his head and placing it on her lap. As her eyes dripped tears onto his face, she wiped up the salty, bloody compound, whispering over and over, "I'm sorry."

Ted chuckled. "For hitting me with the bottle or for dripping your tears all over me?"

Caroline allowed a soft laugh to release between sobs. "Both." She bent down and licked the blood off his face. "Now, whatever disgusting diseases you have, I have too."

He looked up into her sapphire eyes and kissed her nose. "We're both pretty diseased, huh?" He pushed her long, raven hair behind her ears to keep it from falling into his bloody cheek. "You know, Beautiful, I know I don't have to remind you of this, but I will anyway. I've had loved ones killed, too."

"I know, baby. I don't mean to-"

"Shhhh. Please. Just listen to me now, all right?"

Caroline closed her eyes and bit her lip. "I trust you, my boy-scout."

"First," Ted continued, "before I say anything else, I have to mention this. I'm sure it's something you're not even aware of right now, but what do you think it does to me when you have all these liquor bottles all over the house?" He observed her expression instantly change, as she realized the painful battle she'd been causing for her addicted hubby. As she stroked his face and cried harder, he felt her remorse at tempting him and dropped the subject. "More important, Beautiful, I know you want revenge. But, remember, nobody knows the consequences of revenge better than I do." She opened her mouth to speak, and he touched his finger to her lips. "Please. I know. You need to find out what really happened to your mom." His face now sufficiently bandaged, he sat up and grasped her hands. "I'm with you. If you don't want to go to the cops right away, if you want to find enough evidence that'll make them open a case, we'll do our own investigation. We'll find out together." He released one of her hands, clutched the other tighter, and stood up. "But you can't do it like this."

He led his wife off the sofa. Room by room, he opened cabinets, cubby holes, floor vents, revealing secret compartments. He even lifted the lid off the toilet tank and retrieved its hidden liquor vessels. He stopped, brushed her messed hair, straightened her messed clothes, and wiped a smudge off her face. "Do what you want with them."

The sobering woman clutched her husband's hand, this time leading him around the house to the same not-so-secret spots. She released his hand in favor of gripping bottle after bottle. Finally, she led him into the bathroom and stood at the toilet. She glared at her husband with a smirk. "You know, if you weren't so boy-scout, this toilet lid would be up already." Ted chuckled and lifted the lid for her, as her hands were full of half-empties and half-fulls. She uncorked each bottle, ejecting that which both relieved and caused her pain. When the last bottle was dry, she looked at Ted, trying not to be too proud of herself. "Would you like to do the honors?"

"Naah," he answered. "You earned it." Caroline closed her eyes, took in a huge breath and let it out, then bent to flush the toilet. Ted stood by watching, as his newly temperate wife did everything but throw a flower on her dearly departed's grave. As the addicted couple's eyes followed the vanishing potion down the sewer, Ted groaned, "The alligators are gonna have a hell of a party tonight."

_44_

"Finally bagged a man, did you?"

Peg was the last of her sorority chums to tie the knot, and sister Judy never missed an opportunity to drive this fact home. Judith Wharton Ziegfried had not only, as she eloquently characterized, 'bagged' a doctor, she had also become one—all facts which coalesced into some rather uncomfortable gatherings for the unmarried, non-degreed Ms. Vitelli who had dropped out of college when finances dictated. But now, as she was on an express elevator up just as the Ziegfrieds' marriage was dive-bombing, the bride-to-be was ever at the ready with a counterstrike. And, the more her rival's union teetered on the brink, the more Peg played her impending nuptials to their extreme.

At this, Judy's umpteenth insult for the evening, Peg tossed her hair and grabbed a plate of hors d'oeuvres. "Well, Jude, after I sent my exes your way, I finally found someone worthy of me." She shoved the plate in Judy's face. "Leftovers, hon?" Bending to her frenemy's level, she casually exhibitioned her engagement ring alongside the pate.

"Holy cow! That aint a rock, it's a boulder!" Judy threw a glare at her husband, as he stared down the four-point-six-carat symbol of Peg and Jerry's love.

"Ziggy, honey," Judy reminded, "ours was that big, or don't you remember?"

"Remember?" Dr. Gig Ziegfried echoed. "How the hell could I forget? You hawked the damn thing the very next week!"

As the rest of the costly three-couple affair snickered, Judy put on her most coquettish smile and set her head on her husband's shoulder. "I needed a shopping spree, baby."

"An eighty-thousand-dollar shopping spree?!" _Mr._ Dr. Ziegfried replied. He set his glass down in favor of the bottle and chugged. "I've been paying for it ever since." In un-surprising drunkard form, he belched, punched air, and nearly fell off the couch.

_Mrs._ Dr. Ziegfried playfully cozied up to her imminent ex, whispering, "And you'll be paying even more, if you don't watch it."

Both bored with the conversation's direction, the party's third couple, Ford and Piper Ness, chimed in unison, "When's the wedding?" Always in sync, at least in public, the Nesses laughed, kissed, and kept on kissing.

"Eh-hem!" Judy rolled her eyes, grabbed the bottle from her husband, and swilled. "Yeah, when are you gonna make an honest woman of her, Jer?" She pushed husband-number-one aside, walked to the adjacent loveseat, and scrunched her spandex body in between Jerry and Peg.

"Ha! Honest woman," Jerry returned, winking at Judy and gulping his drink.

Peg scowled at her groom, gritting, "Nine tenths."

At this reminder of past sins, Jerry choked, spitting Dom Perignon. Judy placed her arm on his back and stroked. "You all right, sexy?"

Jerry caught a glimpse of Peg's angry glare and vaulted off the couch. "I'm good! I'm just … just …" he stepped over Judy's legs and held his hand out to Peg, "just so much in love with this sexy chick here." She took his hand, and he swept her up, planting a wet kiss on her lips. "Mmmm, what a hottie!" He set her down, bent her backward over the couch, and gyrated his body into hers. "I need to get you alone, Cat Woman."

"This is disgusting." Judy stood up, grabbed an unopened bottle and headed for the kitchen. "Hell, just tell us when the damn wedding is already. You don't gotta copulate in front of us."

Still underneath him, Peg stared into Jerry's eyes and laughed. "Some people are just jealous of what we have, Batman."

"You know it, C.W," he replied.

Piper repeated her question. "Come on, you two. I'm dying here. When's the wedding?"

"We haven't even planned the engagement party yet," Peg informed.

Jerry pulled away from her. "Whoa. Engagement party?"

An event planner by trade, Piper squealed and ran to Peg. "Oooooo, yes!" She grabbed her friend's hands and danced. "We have to have an engagement party, don't we, sista?" She led Peg to the kitchen area, pulled out a stool at the massive island, and sat. "I've got scads of ideas, girl. You just tell me what you're thinking, and I can find the best of the best of everything. Oh, I'm so excited! We're planning an engagement party!"

Jerry stared at Peg, who glared back at him, grinned, and shrugged her shoulders demurely. She squinted her eyes and nose at him, and he forced a smile. "Uh … nothing's too good for my Cat Woman."

Judy flailed her arms, bottle waving about. She ran to her sorority sisters, feigning excitement. "Oh! I can't wait! An engagement party, what fun!" She grabbed a bar stool and weaseled it in between Peg and Piper. Never one to let Peg forget that it was adultery that had brought the couple together, she added, "So, when's this affair, uh, I mean party?"

"Ahh, you poor dear," Peg returned. "Here I am, so happy, while you're-" She turned to look at Judy's husband, now a pitiable, drooling sight. "You poor dear. But don't worry, Mrs. Ziegfried. We'll find something for you to do in my wedding. Usher or something. I'm thinking an elegant winter white wedding, sometime before end of year. And the party's gotta be soon, 'cause I simply cannot bear to wait any longer."

"And what sort of price range are we thinking?" Piper took her friend's hand and patted it. "Remember, now, this is the only time you'll be doing this, so spare no expense, sista."

"Well, the guest list will be at least a thousand, so I'm thinking about a hundred for the party and, I don't know, five or six for the wedding?" Peg noted moans wafting from the living area. "Well," she turned back to Jerry, "at least nine tenths of that, huh, Batman?"

Jerry downed the last of his bottle and grabbed Ziggy's just as he lifted it to his lips. The apprehensive groom guzzled and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Anything you say, Margaret Alyssa … Dougherty."

_45_

As Caroline stood on a chair playing maestro, Ted and the Served-Cold employees led the crowd of customers as they sang in every key imaginable. "For there aint no doubt I love this land, God bless the USA!"

Caroline giggled, tossed confetti over the patrons, and jumped down off the chair. "How in the world did we just break into song?!"

"We follow where you lead, gorgeous!" a face in the crowd exclaimed. Customers laughed and purchased and bustled about the store, as they readied for upcoming Independence-Day picnics.

Ted hopped on a register to handle the extra holiday business. "I hope there's enough of what everybody wants."

"As long as you've got me order right, luv, who the hell cares." Dahlia stepped to the front of the line, and Ted reached out with both hands to grab her face and kiss her cheek. "Whooooeeee!" she squealed. "I gotta come by here more often, that's for damned sure!"

Caroline stood at the adjacent register, concocting jealousy. "Get your bloody meat 'ooks off me 'usband, strumpet!"

Breaking into laughter, Dahlia retorted. She ran to the staff side of the counter, stood on a chair, and grabbed Ted by his shirt. Turning to Caroline, she stuck out her tongue, then turned back to a laughing, unsuspecting Ted and planted it straight down his throat.

"Aaaaaahhhh!" Caroline screamed. "You bi-"

"Don't say it!" Ted shouted at his wife, throwing a boy-scout hand over her mouth. "This is a family establishment, my love."

"Family establishment?!" Caroline replied. "That floozy sexually assaulted my husband!" She grabbed at the girl's tiny waist, lifting her off her feet, leaving Dahlia screaming and kicking at her captor.

Vito stepped in to assist his boss. "Hey, Carr! Toss 'er over here!" He stood at his register across the store, hands up to catch the pass.

Dahlia kicked harder, trying to wriggle out of Caroline's grasp. "Every bloody time I come in here, someone's lit'rally tossin' me out! I feel like I'm in a bleedin' John Wayne movie!"

As amused customers stood by in delight at the shop's lighthearted mood, Caroline quickly released her grip on Dahlia. She then instantly grasped onto her again, as though dropping her to the floor. "Woops!" Her lighthearted mood feigned seriousness, as she pulled the young woman close, looked into her face, and whispered, "Your eyes are like lipid pools."

"Enough, you two," Ted interjected. "Caroline, drop Dahlia. Dahlia, back in line. Vito, back to your register. We've got customers!"

"I love coming here," wife of face-in-the-crowd said. "This place is awesome!"

Another face agreed. "Best eats in town, and you get free entertainment every time."

Dahlia puffed out a huge breath. She set her purse on the counter, leaned in to Ted, and winked. "Teddy, luv, a hundred years we known each uvvuh … how come I never 'ad you?"

Familiar with the flirty antics of the cheeky seductress, yet never surprised at her ability to shock him, Ted gritted his teeth and whispered loudly, "Fa … mi … ly … establishment, Ms. Ratt."

Caroline replied to Dahlia's question in her native tongue. "It weren't for want a'tryin', dat's da bleedin' trufe, Ratt."

Dahlia turned her chin up and skewed her eyes at Caroline. "Think you're so bleedin' comical. Yeah, 'cause aint nobody nevuh made fun-a-me accent before. Nor me name, for that ma-uh." She reached into her purse to pay for her order, and her brain instantly switched gears. "Bloody 'ell, I forgotta ask ye, how was the honeymoon?!"

"Dreamy!" Caroline answered.

"Best two-point-four days of my life," Ted insisted. He turned to his wife and swept her up in his arms.

"Family establishment!" Dahlia protested. She watched longingly, as Ted kissed his wife. "Crikey, don't establish a family right here in front of us." Ted pulled Caroline close again, kissed her cheek, cradled her for a moment, then gently lowered her feet to the floor. "Oh, you two," Dahlia said. "So sweet. I'm so glad you two finally 'ad a chance to get away, even if just for a bit." A tear ran down her face, as Ted reached out to hand over her order. "Ye know, I been thinking 'bout something." She examined what was left in the bakery cases. "Hmmm."

"Something like what, Doll?" Vito asked.

"It all looks delicious, and everything I've tried here has been amazin'. But I'm thinkin' … hmmm-"

Always looking to one-up her signature vichyssoise, Caroline said, "If you've got any ideas, D, I'd love to hear 'em. Vito and I are always open to ideas from all our customers."

"I'm actually thinking of, I don't know, maybe a pie or pastry or somethin'."

Betsy joined the conversation. "Something with fruit or chocolate or something?"

Dahlia tapped her finger to her mouth. "Ya know, me grammy used to make these little turnovuhs that, believe it or not, tasted positively scrumptious when 'ey was served cold."

Patrons and employees chuckled at the serendipitous mention of the store's name. "Tell me about 'em," Caroline said. "What was in 'em?"

"They was made wiv some kinda meat. I've no idea what kind." She chuckled. "Bloody 'ell, coulda been cat, for all I know."

"Well," Ted boasted, placing his arm around his wife's shoulder, "this amazing chef here could even make a cold feline turnover taste good."

Vito added, "You got dat right, Teddy boy."

Caroline smiled sheepishly and said, "Hmm. Cold turnovers with meat in them, huh? You might be onto something there, Dolly."

"All I know," Dahlia admitted, "they was to die fer." She stared again at what little was left in the display cases.

Ringing up his last customer, Vito shut the register and chuckled. "You'd actually die for one-a dem little toinovuhs, Doll?"

"Eh, maybe not." Dahlia grasped her purchase, turned toward the door, then turned back and winked at him. "But I might kill fer one."

_46_

"Teddy's in his office, Carr. He's putting together my next lesson. Want me to go get 'im for ya?" Vito shut his register and stood by, awaiting boss lady's orders.

"Nah. Let 'im finish that. I'm good." Caroline counted out change to a customer and carefully handed over a large box meticulously packaged with a variety of cold soups and tartares. As she spoke to Vito, she nodded 'thank you' to the customer. "I was gonna ask him to bring me my jacket, but it can wait."

"Yeah, it's a little chilly today, aint it? Don't feel much like summer, huh?"

"Yeah, but I'll be sorry I'm saying this in a couple days when the heat comes back."

"You and me both, Mrs. M."

Caroline nodded to entering customers and ran to greet them. "Hi there. You here for catering?"

The family of four piled into the shop. "Hey! What did I tell you kids? If you don't behave, we'll walk right outta here, I mean it!" The man looked at his wife and laughed, then turned his attention back to the staff. "I'm sorry, Caroline. Do you believe it? We just left home and already they're acting like this. Heck, we haven't even got where we're going yet."

Caroline opened her mouth to empathize, but was interrupted by the squeals of look-alike toddlers. "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Mommy! Mommy! Daddy! Daddy!"

Dad seized the screamers by their collars and lifted them straight up like dogs being snatched by neck scruff. "You two!" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Stop. Shhhh."

Caroline and Vito chuckled, watching the tots dangle in front of their father's face. "Boy, does 'at bring back memories-a me and my brothers," Vito recalled. He dashed across the shop to an impressive display of gourmet sweets that were fast becoming his own specialty under Caroline's instructive wing. As Dad set his tots back down on their feet, Vito opened the case, chose treats, and turned back to the boys. He lowered his immense presence and looked into their sweet, scheming eyes. "Now, if yous two can be good for your mom and pop, and I mean all day today, I got somethin' for yous." The twins squealed. "No, no," Vito calmed them. "I mean, yous gotta be quiet, too."

Both boys clapped their hands over their mouths to ensure their traps were shut tight. Vito held his arms out and handed each boy a beautifully decorated cupcake on a stick, each depicting an amusing character he knew little boys loved. The boys swiftly threw their hands out to snatch the cakes, but stopped when they saw their father's stern expression. They slowed their movements and held out their hands to receive the sweets. "Thank you, Mr. Socrates," they whispered, giggling and looking at each other for synchronization.

As the boys scarfed their confections, the family moved aside to sit at a table. Vito followed, pouring milk for little ones and coffee for big ones. He patted the boys on the head and turned, bumping into a new customer. "Whooaa. A thousand pardons, madame," he said, motioning for the woman to enter the store.

The woman stood for a moment and stared at the little boys. "Such beautiful young men," she observed. She nodded to the parents. "These lads will be heartbreakers in a few short years, for certain."

Both parents chuckled, and the mother replied, "That's what we're afraid of." She touched her husband's shoulder. "Aren't we?"

Stroking the boys' hair, the new customer answered, "Nothing to be afraid of." She winked and turned her attention back to the shop's owner. "I am in need of catering. That would be you, correct?"

Vito handed his boss a large colorful binder, touched her arm, and resumed waiting on customers. Caroline guided the woman to a table. "Yes. I can help you. I'm Caroline."

The woman offered her hand, leaving the chef struggling to free one hand from the binder. She weakly shook Caroline's hand and said, "I am Mrs. Thakkar."

A very attractive woman in her 40s, she looked much younger. Her golden-brown hair, long to the extreme, was piled on her head in a severe sort of crown. She wore white gloves, black jeans, and stylish boots that disguised her age. Only her cushiony middle and stiff behavior betrayed her youthful face.

As the women sat, Caroline asked, "So what is your event?"

The woman clapped her hands together, her face beaming. "I am having an enormous holiday bash next weekend. We have one every summer, my spouse and I, but we have been rather unhappy of late with our caterers. Their foolishness is weighing heavily upon us, and we must now pursue other avenues. Now, I know this is a bit late notice-"

"Not at all," Caroline interrupted. "We're happy to oblige."

"Not so fast," the woman continued. "I need you to first explain your credentials to me." She removed her gloves and held onto them. "Where were you trained, dear?"

Her face concealing her thoughts, Caroline smiled. "St. Germain-des-Pres des Chefs of the 6th Arrondissement."

"Ahhh, Paris. Yes, yes."

"Will this be a formal event then?"

The woman placed her gloves over her mouth and released an oddly girlish giggle. "Goodness, that is absolutely delightful. No, no, dear. 'Tis the Fourth of July. It shall be a picnic. An underprivileged children thing, one might say."

"Oh, how nice. So, a benefit then, a fundraiser?"

"I'm afraid you misunderstand. The picnic is for the children."

"I see." Caroline lifted the giant binder off her lap and placed it on the table. "Yes. I misunderstood." She opened the binder and began flipping through. "You know, I'm thinking … hmmm." She turned to see if her chef-in-training was in the middle of anything. "Vito, could you do me a favor?"

"You got it, Mrs. M."

Caroline turned back to Mrs. Thakkar. "My husband, my business partner, he's the brains of the company."

Vito wiped his hands on his apron and stepped from behind the counter, carrying a tray of refreshments. "What can I do yous for?" he asked, setting biscotti and a cup in front of each lady. He poured coffee and awaited instruction.

"Could you ask Teddy to get the other binder?" Caroline requested, then turned back to Mrs. Thakkar. "Ted, that's my husband, he just put together three new beautiful binders that are much more comprehensive than this one." She turned again to Vito, who was turning toward the offices. "Vito, ask him for the newest binder, the one I said is my favorite. He'll know which one I mean."

As Vito did a military pivot in response to boss's orders, a rush of customers burst through the shop's doors. The only other employee handling the crowd, he looked at Caroline, who motioned for him to call rather than retrieve the binder himself. He dashed behind the counter, phoned Ted, spoke for a few seconds, then directed his attention back to patrons.

Minutes and more minutes passed as the ladies talked, looked over the less adequate binder, ate biscotti, and drank one coffee each. At last, Caroline said, "I'm so sorry." She gently patted the woman's arm. "My poor husband handles every business aspect of the shop himself. He must be so busy. I'll be right back." She excused herself and headed for the office. "Be right back, Veet." Vito shrugged his shoulders, unable to explain Ted's absence, and resumed his attention to the busy shop.

Pushing through the swinging doors, Caroline called out, "Ro- oh my gosh, you scared me!" Ted stood behind the door, clutching the binder tight. "What are you doing, just standing here?"

Frozen, Ted's dazed eyes fixed a stare out the door's small, yellowed window. He sang in a breathy, barely audible voice. "Been a long time ... that I'm waiting. Been a long time … that I've … "

Stunned at his peculiar behavior, Caroline gazed at her husband for nearly a minute as he sang, moving back and forth in a still sway. She moved up next to his body and, holding hers in the same position, followed his eyes through that window. As her view hit her new customer square in the face, she instantly knew. She touched her husband's soaking wet, paralyzed face. Now as frozen as he was, she barely breathed the question, for fear of the answer. "That … woman?"

"Dawna T."

_47_

"Absolutely not." Caroline reached into her bag and pulled out her personal checkbook. "It's payday whether Ted's here or not."

But young Betsy Cassius loved her new job so much that the last thing she wanted was to make waves. She reached up to grab her coat off the hanger just as a giant, hairy arm got to it first.

"Allow me, misses."

Betsy smiled sweetly at Vito. "Many thanks." She stretched out her arms to accept the jacket. "I don't want to cause anyone no trouble, Mrs. M. I can wait 'til next week."

Vito carefully lifted the delicate polka-dotted jacket and held it out at chest level. "Don't be silly. Yous gotta be paid." He slipped the coat onto Betsy's slight arms, as she did a quaint curtsy in appreciation.

"First, everybody needs to call me Caroline." The shop's owner swirled a pen a couple times and ripped checks from the book. She then walked to the cook, pecked his cheek, and slipped the check into his pocket. "And yous gotta be paid, too," she said, standing by, holding the hat that matched Betsy's jacket and waiting to hand over her paycheck. They all giggled at Caroline's Vito-Socrates impression, as an overhead bell tingled.

"A-ha!" Ted shrieked, stumbling through the shop's front door. "When the … when the … when-" He pulled at his coat's confusing buttons. "Dammit!" He ripped his coat open, flinging buttons in all directions. "When the CFO's away, the mice will pay!" He accidentally lurched forward, stumbled again, and was caught by huge, woolly hands.

"Whooaa dere, Mr. M." Vito stopped his boss from falling forward, thought fast, then stopped him from falling backward. "I can heat up some coffee-"

"I don't want any damned coffee!" Ted shouted, his words strong and his breath stronger. He pulled again at his jacket, now missing all its buttons. "What the hell? Where the hell are all the … I hate this damn thing!" Now a mess of four arms stuck together, he raised his coat over his head in a comical picture. He finally gave up on the coat in favor of attempting to stand. As Vito watched his boss's feet step again and again over each other, he pulled out a chair and guided the man to it.

Caroline wiped her eyes and stepped toward Betsy. "Here, sweetheart," she said, placing the girl's hat on her soft red hair. She leaned in and whispered, "Please forgive Teddy, Betsy. He had a very bad day today."

Ted gingerly bent to sit in the chair, theatrically tossing his coat out behind him. "Yeah. You gotta forgive Teddy, Bets. It's just been one a them crappy days." He stared for a moment and shook his head once violently. "Crappy, crappy," he slammed his hand on the table, "shhhh … crappy! You know the kind, right?" His hands gestured wildly in the air, pointing and waving. "It rains. Your … your … car won't start. Your hair looks bad. You see the woman who molested your 11-year-old son and made him commit suicide and now she's … woohooo! … planning a party and living her life like nothing happened!" He dropped his head to his chest, let out a sorrowful wail, and rested his face on the table.

At the horrific secret's disclosure, Vito and Betsy's eyes shot to Caroline. In return, she smiled softly, motioning and mouthing, 'Go home.'

Betsy looked up at Vito, tears streaming down her face. She sobbed loudly, shut her eyes tight, and buried her face in his vast pea coat. Vito, already sniffling into a handkerchief, raised it to Betsy's eyes and dabbed under them. He put his other arm around her shoulder, bent down, and whispered, "Come on, misses. Let's leave 'em alone."

_48_

The sumptuous blend of morning aromas drifted up to the bedroom. He had listened to the sounds of his master-chef wife preparing her art for hours, and he knew why. She was trying to bring him back to her, just as he'd done when she fell off the wagon. And how he wanted to come back. But, after seeing the foul woman who'd stolen the most precious thing in his life, it was going to take a lot more than a gourmet breakfast to pull him back.

Ted lay cross-wise on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He heard the knock, no intention of doing anything about it. Her hands full with double-decker trays, Caroline softly called out, "Rome? Can you get the door, baby?" No answer. She knew he was awake. She'd heard him stirring, crying, playing music, sobbing. She'd consoled into the night and then again into the morning. Now it was time for action. But this particular action was going to take some convincing.

An old pro at carrying sky-high food platforms, Caroline balanced the stack on her shoulder and reached down for the doorknob. She held out her foot and kicked the door open, all the while her husband not budging from the bed. She stepped carefully into the bedroom, set the encumbrance on a coffee table, and carried a tall glass to her hungover mate. "Rome?" she whispered. Ted rolled his eyes to hers. "Drink this, baby." His eyes followed her, as she sat perpendicular to him on the bed. She picked up his head and laid it in her lap, his expression unchanging. She then lifted his head off her lap and unlocked his lips.

"Don't."

"You have to drink it. It's my own recipe, sort of. It'll knock that hangover right outta ya."

"So how come it never worked for you?"

"'Cause I always chased it with a scotch and soda?"

Ted forced back a chuckle. He stared up at his wife and breathed in the fragrant air. Hangover or no, he could never resist her talents. He opened his mouth to accept the elixir.

"That's my Romeo. I miss you, baby." She held up his head as he took a tiny sip.

"Bleh! What is in that?!" He turned his head away to choke out the ghastliness.

"Milk, lemon, tabasco, heavy on the ginger, light on the alcohol. I usually use scotch, but for you, tequila."

"What?! How in blazes did you come up with that?"

She held the medicinal aperitif to his mouth. "Half chef school, half improvised."

"Where'd you go to chef school? Toil-and-trouble U?"

"Ha ha, that's hilarious, Romeo," she answered, alluding to their dual Shakespeare references. She feigned a laugh, coughed, and demanded, "Now drink."

Ted sat up, and she handed him the glass. "I don't think I can drink anymore."

"Drink! All of it!" She scooched closer to him on the bed, rested her head in his lap, and nestled under blankets.

"You're gonna make me spill it."

"Don't even try it, bud. Stop being such a baby. Do like I do … pretend it's 12-year-old scotch."

"But I hate scotch."

"Everybody hates scotch. We drink it 'cause it makes us feel good. And that will make you feel good."

"Promise?"

"What are we, eight? Yeah, I pinky swear. Now-"

"All right, I'm drinking. Man, you make a mean teetotaler." Recalling something Chip would do when he was a little boy taking his medicine, Ted held the glass in one hand, his nose in the other, and guzzled. He drank and hacked 'til the brew was gone. "Ugh." He wiped the awful residue off his mouth. "Or as Dolly would say, 'bloody 'ell.'"

They laughed as Ted repositioned to lie as close to his love as he could get. He reached his hands to her face, pulled it in to his, and gently kissed her. He looked her face all over and stroked her lips. "You have what Chip calls 'lady-kissin' lips.'"

Caroline chuckled and shook her head. "What? Where in the world did he get that?"

"He just came up with it one day, all of a sudden." Ted was always ready with a good Chip story. "He's about seven, I think. We're watching … what is it? An old movie." He smiled and jerked his head. "I remember. 'My Fair Lady.' My girlfriend at the time's favorite movie."

Caroline remembered his admission the night they met. "So that's how you learned the words to all the songs?"

"Yup. Yes it is." A squinty, reflective smile came over him. "We're all three sitting watching 'My Fair Lady' and, well, I guess Chip had seen me kissing Gina a lot. Anyway, you know how beautiful Audrey Hepburn was. She comes down those stairs, and they do a close-up on her. Chip turns to me and says, 'Daddy, she has lady-kissin' lips, just like Gina!' We howled!" The lovers laughed and continued laughing until the tears came.

Caroline wiped her tears, then stretched out her hand and wiped Ted's. "I hate that slut Gina."

Her husband released a soft chuckle, as he held his arms around his wife's hips and pulled her body closer. "I need you so much."

"I know, baby. I need you, too." He shut his eyes and, softly, quickly, brushed his face all over hers. She could hear him choking back tears. "Rome, baby, I have some news for you."

"What news?" he asked, still brushing.

"We are going to cater Dawna T's Fourth-of-July picnic."

"What the hell?!" Ted pulled away.

"Hear me out, baby, please."

"Oh, sure. Why not? That'll take my mind off what they did to my son. Surely, you don't-"

"Teddy! Please, listen to me, okay?"

"Caroline, I can't do it. I swear, if I have to cater their party, I may end up killing them."

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, we may end up killing them."

"What? What on Earth are you talking about?"

"We may end up killing them. May. I'm not making any promises."

Ted stared back at his angry, smiling wife, his jaw dropped at his chest. He scrunched up his eyes and breathed through his mouth. "Huh?"

"Romeo, listen to me."

"Oh, no. Don't you Romeo me. You've gone off the edge, for sure."

"No. I haven't. Listen. Teddy, this picnic, it's some ... some ... thing for underprivileged kids. Underprivileged kids! What does that tell you?"

He halted his violent headshaking and studied it. "Dear God, underprivileged. To those sickos, it's just another word for easy targets."

"Yes. And Dahlia told me they've got kids there all the time."

"All the time?"

"Yes, Ted, it's their business. She's only a substitute teacher. This is what they do. That camp, the petting zoo. God knows how many kids they've done it to … or how many more there'll be. You said it yourself, what if they've got kids there right now? Some boy like-"

"Don't say it. Please." He threw his arms over his eyes and curled tighter. She could barely make out his muffled words. "You think I don't think about it all the time? Every day, the first thing I think of … after … Chip … I think, what the hell are those two sick freaks doing right now, right at this moment?"

"Exactly." Caroline moved closer to her wronged husband and whispered to his ear drum, "We … must … stop them."

Ted looked up to God and, unable to disagree, he dropped his arms back on the bed and rolled to his wife. "So what's your plan?"

She moved away and stretched out flat. "Um, I don't have one."

"Seriously? After all that? Caroline, you crack me up."

"Well," she defended, moving closer to her big strong man and playfully running her fingers over his chest, "I was kinda hoping, you being a Harvard graduate and all, you could help me come up with one."

"What?" Ted jerked his body away from her hands. "What do you think I learned at Harvard anyway?"

"I don't know. I mean, well, don't all those Masons and shit come from Harvard and Yale? All those sneaky, cryptic, secret societies?"

"Caroline, do you forget?" He threw his thumb to the past. "Harvard is another life for me. Remember? Prison? No-tell Motel?"

"Yes!" She jumped to her knees. Looking down at her husband lying on the bed, she slapped his shoulder. "Even better!" She straddled his body and set her head on his chest, now looking up his nose. "You had to have learned a lot in prison about … about-"

"About what?!" He rolled over, tossing his wife onto the bed.

"I don't know." She straightened herself and sat up. "Like, didn't you know serial killers and shit?"

Ted stepped his feet on the floor and glared back at his teetering wife. "Caroline, just what are you thinking here?!"

The faltering woman tossed up her arms and grabbed her head. She pondered the idea for a moment, then finally caved. "Okay, so we maybe don't murder them."

"Yeah?! Yeah?! Ya think?!" Ted frantically paced, scratching and shaking his head.

"Okay, Ted, okay. I said we won't murder them." She shrugged off his feverish pacing and added, "Maybe we just go there and, I don't know, get some evidence on them. Yeah! Evidence! That's my plan, that's it! I was wrong when I said I don't have a plan. We go there for the party, and we get some evidence on them. Baby, you said you needed an in. Remember? Well, this is it. The party's our in!" She sat a minute, letting him soak it up. "Rome, baby, we can finally stop them."

Ted arrested his pacing. "_We'll get evidence on them. The party's our in."_ He felt his heartbeat ramping up again. He stared at his mate, half stripped on the bed. "_We can finally stop them."_ He licked his lips, turning it over in his head. "_Could it be? Justice for Chip?" _He stared deeper into his wife's eyes, his commingling thoughts racing through each other._ "How beautiful she is. Justice. So beautiful."_

"You really do want to be the shequalizer, don't you?"

"Yes!" She stood on the mattress, jumped to the bed's edge, and hopped onto Ted's back. "Sheeequalizerrr!" she cried, holding one arm around his neck and the other up in victory.

Taken by surprise and unable to hold her, he twirled, stumbled, and dropped them both to the bed. As they laughed, he positioned onto her, the lovers settling into each other. His breathing increased as he felt his body prepare. His fiery stare pierced her sapphire eyes that, in the morning light, were the shade of dark sea glistening under starlit space. He gripped her long hair at the back of her neck, jerked her head, and thrust a feral kiss. He rubbed his toes along her feet, eased her thighs with his knee, and whispered, "I'm in."

Relenting her body, Caroline exhaled, "I knew you would be."

Ted's steady pant set their pace. "What is … your plan?"

She nuzzled his neck and ran with his rhythm. "I don't … have one. Do you?"

Fortified now, he felt the pulse of her pounding moans lift him with every motion. Each rhythm, every thought, furthered their task. At last, he murmured, "Oh yes."

_49_

"La-ay-day, turn me on when I'm loh-one-ly, show-ow me whoa whoa-"

"That was great, Zig!"

"But I wasn't-"

"No, Dr. Z, you weren't off key at all." Tussling over the microphone, Jerry grunted, "Big hand, folks, for the singing proctologist!" He grabbed the mic and patted Ziggy on the back, sending the good doctor back into the crowd. Now alone on the mini-stage, Jerry motioned to Peg to join him. "Now, let's get down to the real business of the Fourth of July … money!"

The assembly both jeered and cheered Jerry's twisted portrayal of America's birthday. Peg squealed and ran to his side. "We're getting married!" She hoisted her body up onto the stage, pulled her bridegroom close, and planted her face on his with a kissing sound that smacked into the microphone. When the gesture was done, she flung her left hand into the air, displaying her engagement ring. "Four point six carats' worth of pursuit of happiness, folks! Woohoooo!"

Jerry's face washed over pale as he watched an enraged Tommy Ray toss a finger up from the audience and bolt. At the possible loss of his general manager, he feigned never-mind and spoke to the crowd. "Is my bride hot or what?" He slapped an arm around Peg's neck and pulled her to the opposite side of the stage. She chuckled awkwardly, following him to a podium.

He stopped and stood, draping a concerned look over his face. He bent to another microphone. "Today ay ay ay, I feel like ike ike-" The stale joke fell on a silent audience, and he switched tactics. He breathed in hard and covered his face in grins. "Who wants to be rich?!"

Forgetting their host's previous comedy misstep, the cheering picnic guests hurrayed. "Thought you'd say that!" Jerry opted again for the concerned look, this time draping himself in the flag. He stepped closer to the podium and held its corners. He halted, jerked his head upward, and squinted into space. "We the people of the United States," the cheering crowd hushed. "We the people … we have rights, don't we folks?" He paused. "I said, we have rights, don't we?!" His guests shouted in agreement. With each question Jerry threw out, the mob cheered in concurrence. "Yes, we have rights!" He waited, milked, then raised a backward pinky to the sky. "The right to … life! Right? The right to life, isn't that right, fellow Americans?!" He raised a backward ring finger. "The right to … the right to-" he leaned in and cupped his hand to his ear, "liberty, right? We the people have the right to liberty?!" The crowd went nuts.

"And we have the right," he stepped back, swaggering in counterfeit preacher, "I say the right," with each step his drooling guests cheered louder, "I say, we the people have the right, I say the right to the pursuit of," he thrust his arms up to the heavens, as his constituents went wild, "happiness, thankya God!" He hushed the crowd with a quickly raised hand.

"But, just what does that mean, pursuit of happiness? Well, it means," Jerry clasped Peg's hand and did the concerned thing again. "It means family, doesn't it, folks? Yes, it does." He waved his hands over the audience. "It means good friends, doesn't it, fellow Americans? And you are all such good friends. Yes, we value you all, we do indeed." He clasped his hands together and bent his head in pseudo prayer. "And it means, let's face it, folks, it means money, doesn't it now?

"Yes, it means living a comfortable life where your children can have the best education. It means living a comfortable life where your wife can have," he raised up Peg's left arm, "fine jewelry, yes it does! You want that for your wives, don't you, men? Of course you do." He took Peg's hand again, lifted the microphone off its stand, and descended the stairs.

Walking through the crowd, Jerry touched shoulders, shook hands, pecked a baby. "It means living the life that you, as an American, were meant to live, have the right to live, doesn't it folks? It certainly does."

Jerry worked 'The People' as he stood on the ground, then reworked them as he stood up on the stage again. "But how do you get that money? Hard work? No, no. Nobody ever got rich working hard, did they? No, sir. They worked smart. Didn't they? Yes, they did.

"And, you wanna know what's smart, friends? Investing. That's right, I said investing. But investing in what? The stock market?" Laughter shook the courtyard. "Hardly! Penny stocks? Day trading? 401K? CDs? Money market? Goodnight, how do you know where to begin? How do you know when to buy, when to sell, and, most of all, how to keep from taking the proverbial bath?

"Well, I'll tell ya, friends, investing, smart investing, is about one-tenth risk and nine-tenths right. Yes, it certainly is. You take a wee little bit of risk and, if you're investing in a successful company, you've got your nine-tenths right there, yes you do. And on this day, yes sir, this glorious day, well, it's all about rights, isn't it, friends? Yes it is. It's all about investing in the right company.

"Ladies and gentleman, fellow Americans, you are here on the right day, I should say you are. You are here at the right time. My fellow Americans … my dear, dear friends … on this day, this day that is all about rights, you are here on the day that my beautiful wife-to-be and I open up our already successful club, Hot Stuff, to investors. Yes, fellow Americans, today truly is your Independence Day!"

_50_

It was a drawn-out twisted driveway he hoped would never end. As the wide wooden gate converged on him, Ted could feel his heart thrashing. He slowed the truck to a stop, then tapped a trace of gas. He repeated the move until, at last, they were at the top.

The morning's silence exaggerated the huge tires crackling over gravel, further broadcasting his closeness to it. As he eased the truck to a final stop in the vast empty lot, the sign proudly confessed:

**Dawna T's**

**Where Kids of All Ages Play Together**

Sickened groans filled the cab at the grotesque innuendo. Ted's face was the color of the blood moon, as he felt his heart strike inside him. Boom. Boom. He hoped they wouldn't hear it, as it stampeded his chest wall.

"I can't do this."

"You can. We're here, baby." Caroline slid close and slipped her hand under her husband's collar. "Rome, you're sweating."

He breathed in quick gasps. "Do you feel it? Can you hear it?" His eyes showered his face as he buried it in the steering wheel. "I'm gonna give us away, I know it. I shoulda done the Graham party with Benno and Betsy."

A bushy hand stretched from behind and touched his shoulder. "No, no. You're fine, Mr. M." Vito lightly brushed his boss's head in a gesture of support. "We got your back, Teddy boy."

Caroline reached around her husband's back, pulled his handkerchief up out of his pocket, and patted his arm. "Baby." He lifted his head, and she dabbed his face with the cloth.

"Mmm. That smells nice."

"I threw my vanilla bath beads in with the wash last night. I know how you love that scent."

He clutched her hands, and they engaged in a supportive gaze. "Thank you, Beautiful. I don't know how I'd make it without you." He turned to Vito in the back seat. "Either of you. Thanks, Veet."

Ted reached out to pump Vito's fist, but instead the cook scooched forward in his seat and draped his weighty arms over his bosses' shoulders. Tears pooling in his eyes, he sniffled, "I love you guys, I really do."

Caroline let out a tender chuckle. "How sweet. And we love you so much, Vito Socrates." She stood a little in her seat and reached over to kiss his ample forehead. "You're sweating too, Veet, like Teddy."

"Yeah," Vito answered, "but Teddy's is emotional. Mine's corporeal." Ted threw his head back and laughed, a sight both Caroline and Vito were glad to see. There was no question this was going to be an exceptionally onerous day for the childless father, and they had already discussed taking as much burden off him as possible.

The giant checked his watch. "We best kick it up a notch, bossman. We're late."

The trio of caterers exited the monster truck. Ted headed to the back to begin unloading, but Vito stopped him. "Let's hold off on dis stuff for now, Teddy boy." He leaned in close to whisper. "Da more trips we gotta make back and forth to da truck, da more dey'll leave us alone and do other stuff."

Caroline huddled with her men. "Good idea, Veet."

"Yeah, I didn't think of that," Ted concurred.

Caroline rubbed Vito's shoulder and winked. "I like the way you think, little man. You're diabolical, like me."

Ted lowered his voice. "Yeah. I guess the one-punch homicide isn't exactly the subtle approach, huh?"

His wife gave him a compassionate glance, then turned back to the truck. "You're right, Veet. We are late. I'm gonna grab the cake for a buffer."

They proceeded along the quaint cobblestone path to the door, all silently noting the arrangement of effective decoys along the way. Everything, from the sidewalk to the trees to the exterior design of the house itself, screamed child lure to anyone who was looking for it. Whimsical images, signs with arrows and backward-facing letters, streamers, colorful lights. There was even inedible candy trim. How it all reeked of real-life gingerbread house, complete with godless witches hiding in plain sight.

"Where've you been? We've been waitin' for ya!"

Peering out from behind cozy curtains was an unduly goodlooking face, its spellbinding light blue eyes transfixed on them in friendly anger. The door opened, revealing a strapping man, standing over six feet, with broad shoulders, expansive chest, and shoulder-length auburn hair streaked with gray throughout. It was the kind of hair on the kind of man that would drive a woman wild on a breezy summer day, especially as it whipped aside a horse's gait.

Caroline recalled Dahlia's words. _"I seen 'im riding those horses, joltin' up and down, and fancied me-self one of 'em!"_ She could certainly see the appeal, but she could never feel it—not now, knowing what she knew.

"Come on, get in here!" the man cried. "Goodness, we're already a half hour behind schedule!"

As always, Caroline took the lead. "My apologies, Mr. Thakkar. We were putting the finishing touches on the cake." The aging Adonis leaned in, as the chef lifted the lid, revealing a large, one-layer confection expertly baked by Caroline and exquisitely decorated by quick-study Vito.

"Why, that is one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen!" He inhaled its pleasing aroma. "And that sweet fragrance," he closed his eyes and let out a primal grunt, "oh, sensuous." Forcing back disgust, the cake's creators replied 'thank you' as Ted stood by seething at the man's heartbeat. "And speaking of sights," he shot a finger gun at Ted and clicked his tongue, "we know each other, don't we?"

"We have never met," Ted replied. "I promise you. I'm Mr. … Caroline's husband."

"Well, Mr. Caroline's husband, I am Jackson T.," the man returned, holding out his hand. "Hmph. One of those faces, I s'pose. You kinda look, maybe, like an actor."

"John Wayne!" Vito informed. "He's related, it's true, hand to God!"

Jackson T. answered, "Oh, I'm not partial, I'm afraid. No, though the wife and I most assuredly do love our horses, we're partial to more, uh, abstract works, you might say. We don't believe the world is so black and white."

Ted fervently rebutted. "Couldn't disagree with you more."

"You and me both," Vito concurred.

"Black and white," Ted added. "Right and wrong. Yes, give me John Wayne over that other sh-"

"Isn't that interesting," Caroline interrupted. "You love horses, but hate westerns. Yes, interesting. Anyway, we should start setting up. We'll unload the truck and-"

"No, no," Jackson T. interjected. "I want you all to come on out, meet the wife and see our beautiful stallions. We're very proud of them, yes we are." He took the pastry box from Caroline's grasp, set it on the table, and opened the lid again. "Yes, ma'am." He reached his arms around her shoulder in a move that would thrill most women. "I'll be damned if you all didn't more than make up for that tardiness."

_"Again with the late thing,"_ Ted thought. "_If he says it one more time,_ _I'm gonna kick his pecans up through his throat." _He grinned at the idea of avenging the bastard's evil deeds, not totally oblivious to his wife's growing influence on him. He reveled in happy thoughts a few seconds longer. "_Balance the scales. Equalize. Yeah. Time to balance … oh, hell, let's get this thing over with."_ Dodging eye contact, he spoke up. "So, we better get going here. When do the kids arrive?"

Jackson T. checked a wall clock that was shaped like a cowboy riding a horse. "Couple shakes. But we don't-"

"And what does that mean?" Ted interrupted, preparing fists behind him.

Caroline touched her husband's shoulder and stepped past him. "What an amusing clock."

"Well, thank you, ma'am. We got it on one of our many trips to the happiest place on Earth."

Just thinking of those two freaks around all those children elicited a vile noise from within Ted. He retched a wad in his mouth, garnering stares from all.

"Uh, are you feeling ill there, my good man?" the visibly disgusted molester inquired. "We can't have any sick people around our guests, ya know."

"Seriously?" Ted impugned. Feeling his wife's glare, he modified his behavior. "I'm … I'm fine." He stood up straight and patched on a giant smile. "Let's get on with it, shall we? Yes, yes, beautiful day! Beautiful, it is!"

Recognizing a reversal of roles, Caroline stepped between her husband and the villain. "So, where's your wife, Mr. Thakkar?"

"J.T., please. It's what all the guests call me. Where's my Dawnie? Well, she's exactly where she's supposed to be at this time," he replied. "Down below. She's with our stallions. It's part of her morning ritual. Every morn, my beautiful mate arises with the sun, cleans the stable, feeds those beauties, and then rides every one of 'em. She's almost as devoted to those animals as she is to our guests." He turned to Ted. "By the way, my fine man, that's what I wanted to tell you a minute ago. We don't ever refer to the guests as kids. No, no. We call them the guests, or, or, the … little people. Something like that. Because, ya see, to us, they're simply," he patted his hands low in the air, "small adults."

Ted clenched his teeth and swiped an overactive grin. "But they're not adults. They're … chil … dren."

Jackson answered, "In years only, my good man. Just years."

Ted's rage frothed in his gut. "I can't. I can't stand-"

"Can't stand here no more!" Vito blurted. "Let's go beneath and meet your misses."

_51_

Jackson Thakkar led his crew across a section of wide open space. They hiked over short stretches of flat land that glistened with the purest of swaying teal grass. Just like Dahlia had said, it was gorgeous. It was so stunning that, as they walked, Ted wondered how such filth could exist among such unsullied beauty.

They followed the reprobate down a path to yet more majesty and, as braying sounds and growing fear declared their nearing proximity to Dawna T., Ted's feet stopped him.

Always keen to the smell of fear, Jackson T. turned back. "Something wrong, friend?"

"I'm … I'm-"

"_Dammit, Ted, don't blow it."_

"I'm just ... taking in all the beauty of this wonderful place you've got here, uh, J.T."

"Yes, it sure is beautiful out here." Caroline grasped her husband's hand, gently pushing him forward. She leaned in and whispered, "Evidence, baby. Remember."

"Why, thank you," Jackson T. answered. "We're quite proud of what we've done," he added, as he reached a small hill that was fashioned into a staircase. "Right down here, follow me." His long, muscular legs conquered three steps at a time, quickly landing him at the bottom. He waved his hands to the distance. "There she is! There's my lady!" As the caterers caught up, the whinnying increased. Caroline and Vito stood next to Jackson, as Ted safeguarded his distance. "Isn't she a sight, gliding so gracefully on the back of that animal? I could gaze at her all day. Exquisite!"

They watched as Dawna T. halted her horse, noticing the group and waving back. She gazed in their direction for a time, then slowly dropped her head to her back, allowing her lengthy hair to float as she kicked up her horse to ride again. She trotted the stallion to greet them, stopping at Ted's feet. The animal kicked dirt in his face, startling him and sending him backward onto the ground.

"Oh, my goodness!" Dawna T. swiftly unstraddled and jumped down to his aid. She stood at his feet, breathed a heavy sigh, and reached out her hand. "Oh, such a bad girl, Dawna! You must punish me."

Still on the ground, Ted wiped his handkerchief over his gritty eyelids. He looked up, seeing only darkness. He reached his arm to the sky.

"You okay, Teddy boy?" Vito stretched out his strong, stubby arms and grasped both hands to his boss's, letting out a snort pulling him up. "Dere we go." As he and Caroline brushed off Ted's clothes, Dawna T. reached behind his neck and blew. Closing his eyes and fuming, Ted

jerked his head away. His lips curled downward, as he opened his eyes again, searching for his wife's comforting gaze.

"You're so dirty," Dawna T. mused. "I was just blowing the dust off. My, but you're a sight." She stepped back and gave Ted a considered ogling. She gently tossed her head

back, running her hand under her hair, flinging it behind her. "Yes. Quite a sight." She squinted at her husband and he at her. "Isn't that right, Jay?"

"Quite a sight indeed, my love."

"We might have to get you out of those indecent clothes," she added. "Jay's got some clean ones that ought to fit your physique." She reached out and touched Ted's back.

Caroline injected herself between her beloved and his scourge. "He's fine. He just needs to wash up a bit, that's all."

At this suggestion, all three caterers at once identified it as their chance to get Ted into the house alone for an evidence hunt. "How 'bout it, baby?" Caroline added. "You go back to the house, wash up, and start unloading the truck, while J.T. and Dawna show us their horses?" She turned back to the Thakkars. "I adore horses. I'm dying to see them, if you don't mind."

"You and me both, Mrs. M."

"Oh, if we must," Dawna T capitulated. "It is getting to be that time, isn't it now?" She looked up at the sky. "We've got just under six hours before the guests arrive.

Just enough time to get this place in tip-top shape. Everything must be perfect. Absolutely perfect. It puts our guests totally at ease."

_52_

"So that was your big plan, huh? Potty breaks?"

Not totally trusting of Caroline and Vito's lookout skills, Ted peered left, right, rear, and left again. He switched the phone to his other hand to push open the bathroom door, then gently elbowed it behind him. "Never underestimate the power of the potty break." Listening to his wife's chuckles, he stood at the sink, tapping the counter to imagine possible hiding places. "Don't laugh. Many a battle in many a war hath been lost on account of potty breaks."

Caroline shook her head. Eyes fixed on their whereabouts, she threw a fraudulent smile and wave to the Thakkars. "So that's what you learned at Harvard, huh, the art of potty breaks?"

"That was the crux of it, yes." He opened every cabinet for signs of the couple's crimes. "Besides, we didn't need my big plan anyway. Dawna T. almost killed me with her horse, remember?"

"Yes. What the hell was up with that?!"

"Um, she's insane?" Shutting the last of visible hiding places, Ted said, "Hold on. I haven't even washed up yet." He set the phone on the back of the toilet, washed his face and hands, then wet a towel and brushed the dust off his jeans. He picked up the phone. "You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. They're done with the horses now. We haven't got much time. So what have you been doing?"

"I unloaded the truck and-"

"No, baby! We don't have time for that. Have you found anything? Did you even look yet, for crying out loud?"

"Caroline, I had to take some stuff out of the truck, or they'd get suspicious."

"Oh, right. Hmm. You're more diabolical than I thought. I'm impressed."

"It's all you, sensei. I got most of the truck unloaded. It's sitting in the kitchen."

"But you've been checking for evidence, too, right?"

"Of course."

"Have you found anything yet?"

"Not a thing. Their computer was opened up on a desk in the den-"

"Rome, nobody says den anymore. It's a home office."

"Whatever. They look like den kinda people to me. Or, maybe, cave people."

"Cave creatures, more like."

"No disagreement there."

"So, nothing, huh, on the computer?"

"Nope. I searched all the files I had time for, but nothing incriminating. I even checked the history for child … you know."

"Yeah. They're probably real careful about that stuff, especially with all the people coming and going around here."

"Of course. There's a laptop, too, but I couldn't figure out the password."

"Hmph. Guess it's not as easy as it is in all those Lifetime movies, where they always guess the password in three tries."

Ted chuckled. "You're funny." He took one more look around. "Well, doesn't look like there's anything in here either."

"Where are you?"

"Right now? I'm in the bathroom. We'll have to check the rest of the house during the picnic, I guess. One or two of us can keep the ... the ... what'd you call 'em, beasts?"

"Creatures, but beasts works too."

"One of us can keep the creatures busy, while the other-"

"Ah, so that's where the potty breaks come in."

"You got it, Watson. See there. That Ivy League education didn't go to waste after all." Ted stared in the mirror past himself, meditating on possible secret compartments. "What's Vito doing?"

"He's over there talking with Jackson, but … no! Where the-" Caroline jerked her head in all directions.

"What? Caroline, what?!"

"I don't see Dawna T. anywhere. She's gone!" She headed toward the hillside. "Baby, she was just here talking to Veet and her husband. Dammit!"

"Caroline? Caroline!"

"Yeah, I'm here. What?"

"Why are you getting so upset?"

Still no sign of the woman, she ran up the dirt stairs. "We need to get something on them, and we haven't got much time. Oh, no!"

"What?!"

"The beast! The … the … creature! She's on her horse! She's headed toward the house! Ted, get outta there now!" She sped up to catch the perp.

"Why? All I'm doing is taking a whiz. Sheesh."

"Oh." She slowed down to catch her breath. "Well, I guess that's okay. I just … I don't know. That woman had a creepy look in her eye."

"Yes, Caroline. She's a child molester. That's the look."

"Good point." Continuing her lagging pursuit, she puffed, "Just keep talking to me, okay? She's on her way back to the house. I just want to make sure you're all right. Don't hang up."

"I won't. But … but-"

"But what?"

"Well, I'm pretty dexterous, but I don't think I can do this and talk to you at the same time. And I can't exactly put you on speaker." Ted placed the phone on the back of the toilet again and unzipped.

"Go ahead. Put the phone down. Ted? Baby?" Hearing a muffled voice, Caroline swiveled to find Jackson walking toward her, with Vito trailing behind. She turned back to continue following Dawna T., now barely able to view the villain, who was dismounting her horse. She mumbled, "Come on, baby. Hurry up. Hurry up." She hit 'speaker' and waited to hear flushing sounds through the phone. Still waiting, she whispered loudly, "Ted?!"

"Dammit," Ted exclaimed. He grabbed the phone off the toilet and tucked it under his cheek. "Yeah, yeah. I'm here. The damn toilet won't flush." He lifted the lid off the tank.

"Don't you dare take that phone away from your ear again! Dawna T's headed right for you!"

"Caroline, I told you, I'm in the bathroom. What's wrong with that? I'm just … oh, you gotta be kidding me?"

"What? What is it?!"

"Not too obvious."

"Dammit, Ted, what is it?!"

"Caroline, would you stop? It's nothing. They stuffed their drugs in an envelope and tied it to the underside of the toilet tank. You believe that?"

"Crikey. Not too obvious."

"Yeah, right?"

"Well, don't touch it. Just fix the damn toilet and get outta there. She's tying up her horse right outside the house!"

"You kidding? Hell, we could at least get 'em locked up for this." Ted tugged at the package's knots. "Then the cops'll have to search the whole place."

"Oh, good thinking, baby. So, what is it? Coke? Crack?"

"I don't know." He gave one last tug, freeing the envelope from the porcelain.

"Well, what does it feel like?"

"I don't know, Caroline. I'm opening it now. What does a package of drugs feel like anyway?"

"No idea. I'm a scotch and soda gal, remember?"

He slid his finger inside the mailer and ripped its edges. "Well, don't look at me." Feeling at the pile of glossiness, he executed a careful pull. "You know I'm a Jose Cuerv … oh … dear … God." Ted stared at the stack's top image, unable to un-see. Three adults and one child.

"Ted, I think the creature's in the house!" Caroline took a deep breath and raced for the back door. "Ted?! I don't see her anymore! Teddy, get outta there now!"

A new, but sickly familiar voice echoed from the phone. "I knew I recognized you. You're my beautiful Theodore's father."

_53_

Dawna Thakkar breathed in a wet, beastly snarl. "I've been after Jay for weeks to fix that damn thing." The creature exhaled a thick, snorting sigh. It ogled this Theodore Morrison, as he stood in rigid affront. "Of course, most people just jiggle the handle to get it to fill up again."

Dawna T. sealed a stare on Ted's hand, as he clutched the stack of vile images. "Those memories you're holding," the creature slowly rolled its head, eyes fluttering, back arching, "how treasured they are." It dropped its jaw, bellowing a degenerate moan. "How we cherish them, my lover and I." The creature lifted its paw, brushing it along its forehead over and over, its hair wisping back, its groans skipping in a lewd, twisted taunt. "My beaus, I prize every one of them." With each of the creature's disclosures, the tortured father wailed muted screams. "But no one, not one other, ever came close." Ted sensed the creature drifting toward him in a filmy specter of movement. The more it spoke, the more his insides ripped at its shocking, noxious words. "Mr. Morrison, you should be proud. No one ever made me feel quite like my precious Theodore did."

Dawna T. lurched forward, discharging a foul, baneful shriek, clawing, scratching, red eyes glowing, inhuman teeth snapping. "Those are my memories! Give them to me!" In a final attempt to retrieve the photos, she hoisted her arm, exposing the blade as it lunged toward his heart.

Ted grabbed at anything to thwart the attack. The heavy porcelain lid. He dropped the photos and raised the lid high. As it crashed down, caving her unnatural head, the creature released a curdling howl, twitching and exhaling its last indecent breath.

_54_

Seconds were hours as he stood in stillness, red dripping everywhere. The aftermath was so silent he could nearly hear her detestable blood coagulating in his ear as it filled the air with a sickening, relieving scent. He had killed it, the creature that had so tortured his boy. It would never harm another child. Still, even in the necessity of the thing, he felt the conflict. Like a mushroom cloud, it was both a beautiful sight and a menacing presence, the breathless body lying at his feet. He had killed before; he knew its unyielding hell. And, though this one was justified, defense of self, defense of others, it didn't change how he felt. Caroline followed his sudden cries.

"Rome! Baby, where are you?!" She slammed the back door against the wall and rushed up and down the long hallways. "Baby, can you hear me?!" She sped to the upstairs bathroom. Empty. She raced back down the stairs. The wails—they were close now.

Ted's exhausted body slid down the wall into the scarlet pool. He buried his head in his blood-drenched arms and let out a petrifying scream.

At the sound of it, his wife ran again, back the other way, around the corner. Catching the red in her view, she stopped at the doorway, astonished at the grisly sight. She gathered grit and stretched her hand to him over the gruesomeness. "Thank God."

_55_

Caroline stood next to her husband, thinking how she'd failed him yet again. Here was yet another time she hadn't shielded him from harm. "_We promised we'd have his back." _She knelt at his side and enveloped his balled-up body. "You saved a lot of children, my love."

Ted's hyperventilating replaced every other word. "She … pictures … sick … knife … me."

Caroline peered around the floor, noticing the only part that wasn't red. Her pupils enlarged. "God in heaven." She picked up the huge serrated butcher knife. "She almost killed you!" She pieced together his separated words in her head. "Pictures?" Seeing his unrelenting sobs, she retrieved the handkerchief from his back pocket and nudged his head. "Baby, lift up." He slowly raised his head, keeping his eyes shut tight. Caroline dabbed the cloth over his face and eyes, kissing each time she dabbed. "What pictures, baby?"

Ted opened his eyes to a squint and breathed in for courage. He then opened them all the way and glanced around. Feeling behind him, he grabbed the stack and pulled it up, its Victorian bow now undone and its top image missing. He looked deeply into his wife's azure eyes and handed her the photos, whispering, "Brace yourself."

Caroline reluctantly accepted the stack of pictures. Not looking down at them, she said, "No. No." She closed her eyes. "Are these what I think they are?" Ted gave a slight nod. The door slammed. "Jackson!"

"Mrs. Morrison? Are you in here?" Husband and wife sat paralyzed for a moment. Ted inhaled and stood to his feet. He reached his hand down, and Caroline took it to stand alongside him. She slipped in the blood, and he caught her, helping to straighten her out.

"Mr. Morrison?" Jackson Thakkar called again. "Ted? That's what you like to be called, isn't it?" He released a disgusting hyena's laugh. "Or are you a Chip, too?" They could hear his taunts over the clunking of his boots on the hard wood. As though he knew, as though he could smell his mate's spilled blood, he mentioned not a word about Dawna.

The Morrisons held their position, awaiting this beast to sniff them out. They listened as his heavy footsteps came closer, closer still. Finally, Jackson T. reached the doorway.

He stood, huffing, snorting, staring at them, curiously unmoved by the gory mess. "I was afraid something like this might happen."

_56_

He skewed his head and cracked his neck. "You parents. You never understand." Jackson T. looked around the room at the blood-spattered walls. He threw his eyes upward, seeing more gore on the ceiling. "Our love. Just because it's not like yours, doesn't mean it's not real." Caroline opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the right words. She looked at Ted and he at her, as Jackson T. kicked his wife's motionless foot. "It's just a little unconventional. We never expected the pedestrian masses to understand." He again looked about the room, then looked Ted and Caroline up and down. When he saw the photos in her hand, his face was wiped of its twisted sanctimony, ears perking back, eyes flaming orange. His head quivered as his neck veins jetted out. He raised it, pointed it, clicked its trigger. "Hand them over."

Strangely unaffected by the pistol pointing at her, Caroline now found words. "Your wife is lying in a pool of her own blood, and this is what you care about?"

Ted added, "What happened to that transcendent love you talked about?"

"I wasn't talking about her," Jackson T. corrected. "I was talking about our love for your son and all the other guests we've had here over the years. All those beautiful young men dying to learn about life." He lowered the gun, as his sick lust took over his thoughts. "And so we taught." Ted's boiling blood burned through his veins, as the filthy words nearly cut off his breath. "We loved every one of them, but I knew. I knew my Dawnie was especially partial to your son. I didn't mind, though. I loved him, too." He spewed a piercing, unclean groan. "Oh, how we enjoyed them. Howwwwwwww-"

Jackson T. emptied a thirsty bellow, as blood chucked from his mouth, plopping in globules onto his lips and chin. Ted and Caroline stared, as pillar-of-the-community Jackson Thakkar's baby blues rolled to blankness. Their eyes redirected, in horror, in wonder, as the through-and-through blade exited his throat. Finally, the chokes and curdles stopped, and the inhuman thing fell to the floor. The couple gazed, awestruck at the knife's handle sticking out of the back of Jackson T's neck. They pulled their eyes up from the gruesome pile of bodies.

Vito. The cuddly giant scrunched up his mouth, shook his huge head, and said, "Ts Ts. I wanted to do da Graham party, but Benny drew da long straw."

_57_

"Hell no!"

"What do you mean, no? We have to call the cops! Dear God, look at this!" Ted bent over the ghastliness, his sickly face looking even paler against the crimson that now puddled the floor.

Caroline stepped gingerly toward her husband, making sure not to step in congealing blood. She smoothed her hand over the back of his neck and hair. "Baby, think about this for a minute. You want to call the police? Aren't you forgetting something?" Ted stood up to look into his wife's persuasive eyes. "You. Dead bodies. Police." Realization came over his face. "Yeah. You're still on parole. Do you want to go back to prison?"

Vito spoke up. "She's right, Teddy. You know as well as I do dat you aint apposed to be nowheres near trouble, self defense or no."

"Right, Veet. How much more time did you say have?" Caroline asked.

Ted moaned, "Four years on my original sentence."

She moved in closer and rubbed her eyes against his cheek. "I can't lose you again, Romeo."

Vito picked up the photos. "Besides, do we really want dese to get out dere?"

Ted reminded, "But we came for evidence, and," he breathed in deep, shut his eyes, and opened them again, "there it is, right there."

"Baby, you can't be serious? These pictures have to be destroyed. God knows where they could end up. Would you have wanted that for-" Caroline stopped herself from finishing it.

Ted shook his head and walked into the hallway. He slid down the wall, letting his worn-out body fall to the floor. Caroline and Vito followed, whispering to each other. They sat on either side of the exhausted father, each clasping a hand. Ted sat up, looked right at Vito and left at Caroline, then dropped his heavy head onto Vito's huge, soft shoulder. "I don't know what's right anymore. I'm so tired."

Vito lightly patted his boss's head. "You got a right to be, Mr. M. You been tru too much."

"And I didn't keep my word," Caroline added, stroking her husband's arm and sniffling.

Ted lifted his head. "What do you mean?"

"I promised I'd have your back. I let you both down."

Vito said, "Don't you dare, Carr. We're proud of you. Heck, dis was all your idea. Way I see it, we's all heroes."

"Well, I sure don't feel like a hero," Ted said. "But all of that aside, what are we going to do about that mess? We can't leave any evidence of what happened here. You're right about me going back. I can't take it if I have to go back there." He turned to Caroline. "I can't lose you again, either, Beautiful."

"You aint gonna have to go back, Teddy," Vito assured. "We'll think-a somethin.'"

Ted checked their eyes for answers, nearly seeing a light bulb go on over his angry wife's head.

"I've got it!" The vengeful chef smirked, pointing a finger to the sky. "Remember Dahlia's grammy? We'll make Dawna and Jackson pies!"

Vito blurted boisterous laughs until he hiccupped. "My pop's spe … ecialty … mea ... eat pies! Talk abou ... out ... corpus delecti! I say … ay … we do it!"

"First of all, Veet," Ted instructed, "it's corpus _delicti_ ... with an 'i'." He stood and walked back to the bathroom's doorway, as Caroline slid over and tapped Vito's back to knock the hiccups out of him. "It doesn't mean delectable, Vito." In a near state of shock even at second sight of the curdling bathroom, he shook his head, closed his eyes, then opened them again. He repeated the move over and over.

"So what does it mean, Hahvud man?" Caroline teased.

Eyes now glued on the ghastly scene, Ted answered, "It means … it means … that I'm screwed if we don't get rid of those dead bodies!"

"I don't know, Teddy," Vito wise-cracked, looking at Caroline. "Sounds pretty delectable to me."

"Eh," she joked, "probably be too gristly."

"Carr, you could make even dem two repulsive cock-a-roaches taste like a five-star gourmet meal."

"Ahh, you are so sweet," Caroline thanked.

"Hellooooo!" Ted felt a fever coming on. "I hate to interrupt this little chitchat you two have got going, but in case you hadn't noticed, there are two dead people in there! And we've got-" he checked his watch, "less than five hours before they get here!"

"No big feato. Leave it to Vito."

Caroline slapped Vito on the back and the two of them cracked up. She set her head on his shoulder, and said, "I love you. You always make me feel better about stuff."

Ted dropped his jaw to his chest, his voice more frenzied with each word. "Better? About what?! You mean better about two dead bodies lying in pools of their own curdling blood ... with a hundred children and parents on their way here for a Fourth-of-July picnic?!"

Caroline and Vito whispered between themselves and stood up. They walked over to Ted and engaged him in a group hug. "Rome, baby, we love you, but you're bringing us down. Crikey, you should be proud of yourself!"

"You betcha, Teddy," Vito added. Without a care about where he stepped, he walked into the bathroom and picked up the photo that had fallen from the top of the stack. He walked back and slapped it into Ted's hand. "Ya done your good deed for da year."

Ted glanced at it and shuddered. "Tim."

"What?" Caroline asked.

He handed her the photo and walked away from the disgusting scene. "In the picture with those … freaks. Chip's best friend, Timmy."

Caroline took a split second to glimpse the photo. She trembled once, moaned, and stuffed it in her shirt pocket. "This is exactly what we're talking about, Ted. Look what those two deviants did. And God knows how many more there've been."

"Or would be," Vito compounded. He looked into the bathroom again, this time assessing the clutter. "We need to put dis on ice."

"What do you mean, put it on ice?!" Ted cried. "The kids are gonna be here soon! We need to figure out, and quick, what we're gonna do with those two … and all that blood!"

Vito clarified, "Dat's what I mean, Teddy. We'll put dese two freakos on ice. We got dem huge freezers back at my parents' butcher shop. You know, da ones we use for meat? Well," he pointed at the flesh heap, "dis is meat."

Ted's stupefied, speechless head gradually rotated to his wife for obvious questioning.

"Um, won't they notice?" Caroline asked.

"Not if I chop 'em up. I'll make dem evil creatures dere look like just another side of beef."

At that, Ted finally lost the chef-de-haute cuisine Caroline had prepared for him hours earlier. He tossed his head, then his cookies, into the bloody pile. "Ugh … ugh … ugh," he exclaimed, bringing his head back up and wiping his mouth. He felt his knees buckle under him, and Vito dove to catch him.

"You all right dere, boss?"

"I, uh, feel … hmph," he straightened up. "Strangely, I feel a little better."

Vito said, "Musta been something ya ate."

"Uh, yeah. That musta been it," Ted rolled his eyes. "But I'm still not sure I can do this."

"Don't worry, baby. Vito and I'll figure out what to do with the bodies. You don't even have to help us clean up, if you don't want. Why don't you go back to the truck. You can keep a lookout."

"No, no. I'm okay. I can't leave you two to clean up my mess."

Vito corrected, "You call dis a mess? Heck, I seen lots woise messes dun dis at my folks' butcher shop growing up. Dis aint nuttin.' We'll have 'ese two cock-a-roaches outta here and dis place cleaned up in no time."

Ted asked, "But then what? What in blazes are we gonna do with them?"

"You leave dat to us, Mr. M. Carr and I'll figure out something. You done your part." Vito bent over and pulled dead Jackson off deader Dawna. "Oh, yeah, dis is good," he appraised. "Da blood's coagulatin' nicely. It'll be easier to sop it dat way. Just like Grandma's giblet gravy."

Ted shook his head, and Caroline laughed. "That's a unique perspective, for sure." She looked at Ted and shrugged her shoulders. "Well, baby, let's get to work."

Vito made quick work of pulling one caputted molester off the other. "Yous are lucky you got an experienced butcher here who knows what he's doing. HeckHell, wit what I know, I can make dem bodies and blood disappear like aint nobody been here." He momentarily stopped his work. Looking down at their fresh kill, he scratched his head and said, "Still, seems a shame to waste alla dis meat."

_58_

"I sure do love a good project, Mrs. M." Vito wriggled his huge body out of his little red Chevelle and slammed the door. He walked to Caroline's hillbilly truck and bent down to tie his shoes, adding, "Makes me feel all alive inside, know what I mean?"

Caroline put her finger to her mouth and shushed him. She leaned in, whispering, "Don't tell Teddy. He wouldn't understand."

Vito gave her a concurring wink, talking as low as his great vocal chords would allow. "You're right about dat." He raised his voice to an unnatural pitch. "Um, anyhow, Mrs. M., I'm, uh, figurin', see, we make da switch now," Caroline motioned for him to talk naturally. "Oh, sorry. We make da switch now, and I'll drive 'em da resta da way to my parents' butcher shop. Dat way it don't look suspicious. My car's dere all da time."

Changing the subject, Caroline observed, "You sure have an adorable little cottage here, Veet." She gazed panoramically and took in the surprisingly pleasant surroundings of Chez Socrates.

Ted agreed. "You sure do. For some reason, I pictured it more … more-"

"More fe fi fo fum?" Vito chuckled. He tossed his keys to Caroline. "Here, Carr. You go open da trunk. Teddy and I'll grab da cock-a-roaches." Ted headed toward Vito, who was tying his other shoe. "No, no, Mr. M. You go on dat side. I'll stay over here. You push and I'll pull."

Ted jogged to the passenger side. "You got it, Veet." He opened the door, leaned in, and gave a mighty, manly shove that swiftly propelled Dawna T's lumpy garbage bag across the slippery leather and out the other side. Hearing the unmistakable thud of dead-molester-bound-in-plastic-wrap-covered-in-industrial-size-garbage-bags-secured-in-bungee-cords hit the ground, the couple diverted their attention to watch in horror as the bag sailed over the hill toward the highway.

"What the hell happened?!" Caroline cried.

"I thought he was gonna catch it!" Ted answered.

Vito finished tying up his shoes and casually stood. He raised his hands, spit in each one separately, slapped them together and rubbed. He then placed his thumb and finger in his mouth and blasted a shrill whistle. The bag stopped in her tracks, resting against a giant boulder.

"That was awesome, Vito!" Ted exclaimed.

"Yeah, how'd you do it?" Caroline asked.

"Told ya, Carr. It's all in da wrist." Vito took three giant's strides toward the body, lifted it with ease, and hurled it over his shoulder. "Too bad we can't leave 'em here for da crows. Crows gotta eat, too, ya know."

Ted said, "Yes, Mr. Socrates, but even crows deserve food they can stomach."

"Ya got me dere, Teddy boy." Vito tossed the sinful satchel into his trunk and pushed it back. He ran to Caroline's truck and hoisted up the second bundle, carrying the stiff package out in front of him, looking like a plump Frankenstein's monster exploring the countryside. He dumped Jackson T. into his trunk.

Caroline stood by, waiting to be of help. "Wow, Veet. I didn't think he'd fit in there after you got the hag in there first. You got plenty of room for more."

"Yeah, right? Surprisingly roomy." Vito pushed Dawna T's body even further back, then shoved at Jackson, snuggling him closer to his defunct partner. "See dere. Fits two mutant cock-a-roaches wit plenty'a room for a thoid." Knowing full well the answer, he asked, "Got any ideas for dat thoid, Carr?"

She placed her finger on her mouth, feigning thought. "Hmmm. How 'bout let's you and me take a little ride over to the prison, shall we?"

Caroline and Vito slapped each other laughing, as Ted grudgingly stepped toward them. "Hey! You two!" He waved his hands in front of their faces. "What the hell are you laughing about?!"

Caroline flipped her palm. "Oh, baby. We're just having some fun. Lighten up, for crying out loud."

"Lighten up? Having fun?!"

Vito peered out from behind the trunk's lid. He gave Ted a squinty look, nudging Caroline. "Bit of a glass-is-half-empty kinda guy, aint he?"

"He's skimming the lid off my buzz right now, I'll tell ya that," she returned.

At that, Ted hiked up his jeans, plopped down on the ground, and rocked back and forth, holding his head in his arms. "No way. There is no way I can do any more of this. Nuh-uh."

"You know what, Rome," Caroline said, "I think we should just take you home, baby. This whole morning has been way too much for you." She winked at Vito, who was vehemently shaking his head. "Veet, I'll take Ted home, and then I'll meet you back at your parents' shop." She whispered, "We'll grab Dolly on the way back."

"Good idea, Mrs. M." He finished pushing the bodies all the way to the back of the trunk. "Oops."

"What?" Caroline inquired.

Vito noted a stark, stiff paw sticking out of a sack. "Somebody didn't bag up Dawna T. too good." Caroline and Vito threw an accusatory glare at Ted.

"Oh, pardon me for not being more adept at bagging up the recently demised. It was my first time!"

Vito shrugged. "Eh, rookie mistake. No biggie."

Caroline snickered and said, "I'm gonna take Teddy home, Veet. I'll meet you back at your parents' shop in half an hour. Then we'll figure out what to do with these two … two … what did you call them? Dung beetles?"

"Well, I was calling 'em cock-a-roaches, but I think I like dung beetles even better!" Vito slipped Dawna T's cold arm back into her bag, laughing and singing, "I wanna hold your haaaaand. I wanna hold your hand." He added, shutting the trunk and chuckling, "Dung beetles .. get it? Dat's funny."

_59_

Eagerly awaiting his project, he stood at the window of Socrates Family Deli and Restaurant, looking for the girl half of his new best friends.

Vito wasn't a morbid guy. He just liked cutting meat, is all. And, considering he was always cutting up innocent animals … "_dey'd eat me if dey had da chance"_ … he really didn't think it would bother him, sawing into a dead bad guy or two.

He momentarily considered not doing it, then remembered the photos. The things the three adults in those pictures did with those children … "_da truly innocent"_ … made him want to throw up. And if he didn't throw up when he saw that, why then would this make him sick? Wasn't that much more distasteful? Anyway, Caroline was counting on him. He admitted this dame was a bit tetched in the head, but he was growing increasingly fond of her. She sure was odd, though. Really odd. Of course, he wasn't exactly vanilla himself.

_"Vanilla_," he thought. "_I like vanilla."_ He pulled the closest thing he had, a butter rum Lifesaver, out of his pocket, popped it in his mouth, glared at the Thakkars, and began singing again. "And when I touch you I feel happy inside ..."

Surprisingly nimble and light on his feet, especially for a 'big Italian lummox,' as the kids in school had called him, Vito took Dawna T's hand, held it above his head, and twirled underneath it. He moved back and forth and 'round and 'round, with some pretty impressive twisty turns.

"Oh yeah, I'll tell ya something, ba-da ba-da bing, I think you're something grand. And I'll ba-da something, I wanna hold your haaaaaand. I wanna hold-"

He stopped dead. "_What da heck was 'at?" _He released Dawna T's hand and bent over to pick up what had just fallen from his pocket. It was the photos. Their photos. The photos those two evil people lying on the table had taken … doing … doing … unspeakable things to those innocent children. He jerked his face away from the photos, but then looked at them again and stood still and silent, scrunching his face and eyes. If he'd been a cartoon character, smoke would have blasted from his pink, hairy ears.

Staring at the ceiling, Vito breathed heavily, his body swaying and his mind's gears grinding. He grabbed the closest sturdy chair, plopped his very large behind in it, and dragged himself and the chair close to the table. "You see dese babies here?" He held the photos up to the Thakkars, who gave their undivided attention. "You see what yous two sickos done to 'em? I'm gonna see to it dat yous two monsters pay for dis." He shifted in his chair a bit and moved even closer to his pupils. "And, lest yous think yous already paid, lemme tell ya something … yous aint seen nuttin' yet."

He turned his head away again. Feeling for their edges, he slipped the photos back into the envelope and pushed his chair away from the table with a screeching noise that could just about wake the dead. "Ted says we need to keep dese for evidence." He stood up and walked to the giant commercial burners. "But we don't need no stinking evidence."

Again he thought for a moment. He pulled the photos back out of the envelope, avoiding further eye contact with the images. He turned on the front burner's fire, held the photos to it, and watched the evidence go up in smoke. As the celluloid curved down and turned to ash, he softly blew the dust into forensic nothingness. "God bless you little babies. May da rest of your lives be happy and free from filth like Dawna T. and her sicko husband, Jackson."

He stood still and silent again, this time a tear rolling down his cheek that turned into a tiny smile. "But I'm gonna keep dis here," he said, clutching the envelope in his hand and stuffing it back into his pocket. "Just so's I'll always have a ... a whatchacall ... of the good deed I done. Souvenir! Dat's it. A souvenir."

Turning his attention again to his project, he walked over to a huge display of knives that were perfectly positioned high on the farthest wall to keep out of harm's way. He stared up at them, patting his crunched-up mouth a few times with his forefinger. "Now, which one a dese? Hmmm." He examined his needs, then chose the two largest and most serrated tools of his trade. Humming a snappy tune, he did another little dance, wiggled his way back over to the table, and sat down.

"So, which one a yous wants to go foist? Ladies foist? Dawna T? Dawn, ma lady?" His eyes squinted, then instantly widened, as he yanked his head back in a thoughtful pose. "Hey! You know what? I'm kinda glad now dat I didn't do da Graham party. Know why? 'Cause instead I'm doing da Donner party!"

He laughed so hard the chair tipped backwards, nearly emptying his squishy body onto the floor. He caught himself, straightened up, cleared his throat, and chuckled. "Donner party. Dat's funny."

_60_

Four bottles of beer passed around, 96 to go, Caroline spoke up. "Veet, I love you, but if you sing one more verse of that song, I'm going to have to kill you."

"But it helps me concentrate while I drive, Carr. Drive, Carr ... get it? Dat's funny."

Caroline chuckled and moved closer to him. She set her head on his shoulder and held his hand. There was a pensive silence for a time, as the two pondered the circumstances of their day so far.

_"I almost lost him_," Caroline thought. "_That evil woman almost killed my Romeo. What would I do without him? I can't lose him again."_ She thought about her husband. She thought about how much pressure he'd been under lately. She understood his pain. "_Losing a child … there's nothing worse. Nothing more painful." _As they drove past the river, Caroline gazed out the Chevelle's open window, a tear landing on her cheek. "_My sweet Baby Grace. I miss you so much, love of my life."_

She wished she hadn't left Ted home by himself, but this trip to the prison—he wouldn't understand. She pictured him alone at the house. Was he sleeping? Was he crying? Or worse … was he drinking? His wounds for losing Chip were just beginning to scar over, and now this. She wondered if she'd done the right thing, making him cater the Thakkars' picnic.

_"The Thakkars."_ They were still back at the Socrates' butcher shop, lying lifeless on those cold steel tables … awaiting … she wasn't sure what. She watched the gentle rippling of the river, thinking about those dead bodies. What on Earth were they going to do with them? Was Vito truly serious about chopping them up and putting their body parts in the freezer? She almost believed he was. She even wondered if he'd been serious about making pies out of them. He was such a good guy. A sweetheart, really. Loved people, adored animals, wouldn't hurt a fly. She had even seen him rescue a turtle from the middle of the road once. But he had an intense sense of justice matched only … only by hers? She hated those two freaks, what they did, what they represented. But was she really that close to the edge that she could take just one more step and do something like that? She wasn't sure. In fact, she wasn't sure of much anymore. Her love for Ted, she was sure of that. There was another thing she was sure of … she was glad those two sickos were dead.

_"Dear God."_ She realized something. "_I almost died today."_ With the harried events of the morning and the need to get everything cleaned up so quickly, she hadn't given it a second thought until now. Jackson T. had pointed that loaded gun straight at them and cocked the trigger. If not for Vito, she'd be dead now. She thought about all of Mikey D's talk of the afterlife and Jesus. "_Hmph. Something to think about."_

As Vito eased off the gas a bit to soak in the river's breeze, he too thought about the day. "_Dawna and Jackson pies. Dat's funny. Pie. Yummy. Pie sounds good. A nice big slice of peach pie. Or maybe apple. Yeah, apple pie … for da Fourth-a July. Hey, dat rhymes! Mmmm, hot apple pie wit a giant scoop of vanilla ice cream. I like vanilla."_

_61_

Ted was right. This place was anything but cozy, at least from what they could see so far. Vito's Chevelle sputtered up the lonely pavement, the first noticeable thing the iconic coils of barbed wire. Caroline had seen them hundreds of times in the crime documentaries that so intrigued her. It was the only place she'd ever seen them—girding the perimeters of various prisons. And this was the only time she'd ever seen them in person. _"Pretty scary."_

"What am I doing here, Vito?" She stared down at her hands, eyes far from this place that housed so much evil.

"Yous are here to put dis all behind yas," he reminded.

"Will seeing him again, after all these years, will that really do it?"

Vito shook his head. "I don't know, Carr. I'm thinking … no. Maybe we should toin around and-"

"No. I can't. I have to do this. Heck, we're here now." She held up her chin and stared into his soft brown eyes. "You understand, don't you?"

"I do. I just don't know if it's gonna help ya. It could make things woise, ya know."

"They can't get … woise," she chuckled.

He delicately punched her arm and opened the driver's side door. "Well, den, let's do dis thing."

Caroline pulled in a mass of oxygen and exited the car. "Let's do dis thing."

_62_

There he was. That man. That plague of her life. Caroline saw her life in two acts—pre- and post-Harrison Bertram Marr. She didn't want to, but she couldn't help staring. He looked nearly as she remembered. Tall, athletic, stunningly good-looking, piles of fetching hair, now salt-and-pepper. Noble in appearance, almost aristocratic. The confidence had suffered some, but the intensity was still there, in full force. She realized whom he now reminded her of … Jackson Thakkar. There was that same charm. It was a fiendish, shaming allure. A definite Ted-Bundy thing. She could hear his heavy breaths even through the glass.

Inhale. "Anastazia." Inhale. "Anastazia." It was all he said for the first two minutes. "Are you pure?"

Vito's eyes popped out of his head, his veins doing the same from his squat neck. "You son of a-"

Caroline stopped him. She looked askew at Marr and said, "What's that mean?"

"Purity, Anastazia," he answered, "purity is everything. Mind, body, soul. It's all we have." His eyes wandered over her. "Your body. Your body. It's your temple. You must keep it undefiled. I never eat anything that defiles my temple. Never. You do keep your temple undefiled, don't you?" He felt at his side for the large canvas he'd carried into the visitors' area. "Oh … oh …" he groaned. "I … uh … oh … oh … I have never felt such-" his mouth went wide as his eyes rolled brutally over her, rolled back in his head, and rolled over her again. "You are the most exquisite, pedigreed thing I have ever seen."

Vito stood up from his chair and balled his fists. Caroline thought, "_What's he think he's gonna do? Punch the freak through the glass?" _She looked up at her friend and touched his arm. "Vito," she said, and he sat back down, still curling his fists and quivering his chin. She looked at Harrison Marr. "This is my friend, Vito. He works for me, but he's also my good friend." She saw a bizarre mix of pain and lechery in his eyes. "I'm married, Harrison."

"I know," he said.

"No, not to Jerry. My new-"

"I know. I hear things in … here. Your business. Your husband. Theodore." He leaned back, set his head on the back of the chair, and whimpered loudly. Visitors and inmates around directed their attention, then looked away, pretending not to see. "Twice now. That's twice you've broken my heart." He softened his whimpering and sat straight again. He moved his chair closer to the partition, compressed his huge chest against the small table, and smacked his hands up on the glass. It was a move that made both Caroline and Vito jerk back. "Don't you remember? Anastazia, don't you remember your promise to me?" One hand slid down the glass, and his head hit the table. He whimpered loudly again, the other hand still clutching and pounding the glass. "You promised." He picked up his head, turned away from her, pulled a tissue from his pocket, and blew his nose. He turned back, sniffling and sniveling, "You were going to marry me."

Caroline's jaw fell. Her eyes widened, flitting about at the walls, the floor, at Vito, and again at Marr. "What … did you say?"

"We were to be married. You promised yourself to me. You said you loved me."

"I was five!"

"You remember!"

As Harrison Marr clutched his chest and grinned, smiling tears glistening his cheeks, Caroline realized his unrestrained exploration of his filthy obsessions had driven him to sheer madness.

"I cannot tell you how much that means to me, lovely girl. Yes, you were five years old. You sat on my lap. You were wearing that white lace dress I had picked out just for you. That dress that fit your beautiful, flawless feminine body so perfectly. Do you remember the song I used to sing to you?" His eyes leered as he mused, his hands clapping to their own flawed rhythm. "Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie. When the pie was open, the birds began to sing. Wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king." He looked beyond her, tittering and covering his mouth. "I always preferred the other version, though. Four and twenty naughty boys baked in a pie. Oh, what wonderful times we had, you and I. You kissed my cheek every time we sang that song. You'd say, 'When I grow up, Uncle Harry, I'm going to marry you.' They were the most precious moments of my life." His eyes returned to Caroline. "Until your birthday when the two of us made such exquisite-"

Vito dashed to his feet and kicked the chair out from under him. His fists tightening and reddening, he shadowboxed the air in the convict's direction. He looked down at Caroline, spun his body right, left, then right again and left-hooked the wall. His breath puffed and fumed. His eyes darted to Caroline, to the guard, and then back to Caroline. Her expression asked him to sit and stay out of it. He calmed his rage and did as she urged.

Harrison Marr felt again at his side and lifted the canvas. "I painted this for you, lovely girl. I began painting again during my stay here. I haven't sold anything. Well, the concierge won't allow it." He placed his hand in the center of the canvas and tore away a piece of the wrapping. "I put this paper on it so it wouldn't be ruined. It's been sitting in my suite all this time. Worst day of my life, when you … gave yourself to him. It's all right now, though. I know now you didn't love him." He pulled off a piece of the brown paper, then stared at the fragment of his masterpiece peeking out. He leaned in, placed his nose on the canvas, and sniffed. "Oh, your fragrance." He ripped the rest of the brown paper off and held it up, proudly displaying his handiwork.

Caroline recognized its model. Fifteenth-century Italian painter Tiziano Vecelli's 'Tarquin and Lucretia,' more widely known as 'The Rape of Lucretia.' There were, however, glaring differences. First, the defiler's hand held no knife, but instead a breast. Second, Caroline's image—as a 13-year-old girl—replaced that of the raped Lucretia, Marr giddily standing in for Tarquinius, the rapist. There was one other, very thunderous, modification. The pleasured smile on Caroline's face.

"I call it," Harrison Marr proclaimed, "Anastazia's Wedding Night."

_63_

"You shoulda let me pop dat sick fu-" The car went into a tailspin, and Vito's beefy hands tripped over themselves straightening it. "Sorry, Mrs. M. My momma taught me better 'an 'at. A thousand pardons."

"For what, Veet? Almost … what did you say? Popping that sick … child molester?"

"For almost swearing in front of a lady. Hel- heck no. Not for almost popping dat SOB. Oops. Sorry." He let his foot off the gas and returned to a safer pace. "I only wish I'd popped him. He's even more distoibed 'an 'ose two we got back at da shop." He glanced at Caroline and she at him. "Tossup." He glanced again and saw a single tear streaming down her cheek, which she swiftly wiped off. He reached over for her hand and clasped it as he sped up again. "You want me to go back dere and pop him one … or tree?"

Caroline's body shook, as she both laughed and cried. "No, sweetie. No. You don't have to pop him … any."

As they endured the long drive back, Caroline twisted around to her left and placed her hands on the back of the seat. She rested her head and stared past Vito's massive shoulder, hunting solutions to their multiple molester problems—the very dead Dawna and Jackson and the very alive Harrison Marr. Her eyes studied the river, watching its quick waves. The current had picked up since their ride out_. _

_"What the hell are we gonna do?"_ She examined their options. "_Vito was right_," she thought. "_Seeing him again only made things worse." _Her head betrayed her emotions, singing an old song she detested. As the words turned her insides from anger to wonder to inspiration, she jerked her head and twisted back to the windshield.

Caroline's sudden twitch grabbed Vito's attention, just as the road's whine was about to put him to sleep. "96 bottles-a beer on da wall, 96 bottles-a beer, you take one down, pass it a- … sorry, Carr, I'll shut up."

Caroline thought for a second. "You don't have to stop singing, Veet. But I've got a better one for you." An expression her husband described as a 'wry smile' enshrouded her face. "Sing a song of sixpence a pocketful of rye, Dawn and Jackson Thakkar baked in a pie-"

_64_

"I've never seen him do that before."

"So what do we do?"

"I don't know. Um, um, oh wait! I know! Get the smelling salts!"

"Right, Carr! Smellin' salts!" As Caroline knelt to her husband, Vito darted his head about the room, his large body following a close second. He jerked in all directions, finally halted his search, stood confounded, and turned back to his accomplice. "Uh, Carr?"

"What is it?"

"What are smellin' salts?"

Caroline shook her head and hands anxiously. "Oh, Vito, they're … those … things, you know, that stuff they use in all those old movies when people faint, you know, to bring them to. Hurry!"

Vito's pointed finger denoted total understanding. "Yeah, right, old movies! Got it. I love old movies. They just don't make 'em like-"

"Vito! Smell … ling …salts … now!"

"Right. Sorry." Vito resumed his heretofore fruitless search with newfound zeal. He ran around the kitchen, flinging and slamming cabinet doors. He stopped and scratched his head. "Uh, Carr?"

"Yes, Vito, what is it?"

"I'm sorry, but I really don't know what dey are. I really don't."

Caroline tossed her hands up. "Honestly, Veet, neither do I. I was kinda hoping you did." She leaned in and slapped Ted's face.

"Good idea! Dat's always something dey do in 'em old movies too … slap da guy's face. Hey, I know what else! Water!"

"Great idea!"

Vito dashed to the industrial sink, grabbed a cup of water, stopped at a baking rack, helped himself to a freshly baked pastry—

"Vito!"

—and dashed back to his slumbering boss. As Caroline knelt over her husband attempting to de-stupefy him, Vito crept up on his other side, positioned his body just so, tossed the water at Ted's face, then stepped back to enjoy his treat.

"I don't know anything! I don't know anything!" Ted jerked from his repose, appendages flailing. He sat up and opened his eyes to find his wife and friend staring back at him, Caroline stroking his forehead with a cloth, Vito standing by gobbling pie. He sat for a moment, calmly appraising the situation. He inhaled, exhaled, cocked his head, and coolly said, "Um, why are you two water boarding me?"

"Baby, you fainted!"

"We was only doing what we had to do, Mr. M."

"... should have seen your face!"

"You went down, and heck, we didn't what to do."

"... had no idea, baby. No idea at all."

"We tried smellin' salts, but we didn't know-

"-what those are, so Vito did the water thing."

"You know, like in old movies, 'cause we just aint never seen nobody faint before. Heck-"

"Silence!" Ted blurted. "Enough." He glued a stare on Vito, who was still scarfing baked goods. Ted's befuddled eyes followed two meaty clumps as they escaped the hungry giant's mouth and journeyed downward, plunking in oily globs onto his boots.

It all came back to him. Caroline's fidgeting. The uniquely delicious smell in the kitchen. Vito's crusty red apron and his proclamation that he'd finally 'de-caked the blood from under his nails.' The freshly baked meat pies cooling on the racks. He thought, "_Pies? Pies!" _His face told a tale of sudden horrified realization._ "Dawna and Jackson pies!"_

Ted's body froze as his ear drums shook. It was Caroline's skipping 'Sweeney Todd' record, melodically confessing, "He shaved the faces of gentlemen who never thereafter were heard of again … heard of again … heard of again … heard of -"

"Dear God! What have you done?!" Ted leaped up, his legs buckling under him. He jumped up a second time, stumbled over his feet, stopped himself and stumbled again, finally landing in a dumbfounded sway.

"You all right, baby?"

"I … I … remember now! I remember it all! The … the … the … pies … those … little … meat pies … the … the … Sweeney Todd … your apron, Vito, your apron, your apron, your … your … nails!" Ted's eyes intersected. "Mother … blood!" And his body plopped down like another glob of meat, face smacking the floor.

As Caroline dashed to Ted's aid, Vito shoved the rest of the pie in his mouth, slapped his hands on his scarlet apron, and said, "What'ya suppose dat was all about?"

_65_

"No more bottles of beer on the wall, no more bottles of beer. Go to the store and buy some more, 99 bottles of beer on the wall!"

"Dat was fun, Carr! I never got tru da whole thing like dat. I didn't even know dat was da ending!" He swerved to miss a rabbit. "Whooaa. Dumb bunny."

"We used to sing it all the time in school when I was in Paris. Except there it's," she thought for a moment and sang slowly, "quatre-vingt-dix-neuf something de biere something something, quatre-vingt-dix-neuf something de biere something-" They both burst into laughter.

"You crack me up! You're in a good mood today, huh?"

"Dunno, Veet. I feel so much better today. Just felt like singing, ya know?"

"Guess dere's just somethin' about justice dat makes ya feel all warm and toasty inside, huh?"

"My friend, they do not call it sweet justice for nothing!"

"You got dat right! And served cold, too! It don't get no better 'an 'is, boss lady."

As Caroline chuckled and brushed her hand on Vito's large, squishy shoulder, a soft breeze drifted in, directing her attention toward the river. As she gazed at its still, low rise, her mood shifted. Worrying and wondering about Ted, she said, "River's low, Veet."

"I saw dat. Still kinda peaceful, dough, huh?"

"I guess. I'm a little worried."

"You and me both. Teddy aint himself, I'll tell ya dat. What was all dat stuff dis morning?"

"Well, you heard him, 'I remember. I remember.' I guess he slept all day yesterday, after, you know, we dropped him off, and then the whole thing just hit him today when he saw your apron."

"Yeah. Dat's prolly it. I washed it after I … you know. But I forgotta soak it first and 'en trew it in da dryer. Guess I gotta trow dat one away now. Well, dat's four bucks down-a drain." He took a second to check all his mirrors, then glanced toward the river. "Oh no. I know what it is."

"What?"

"You know where we are right now?"

Caroline studied the question. She stared into Vito's face, then glanced in the other direction. The river. "Cohler Bridge."

"Yeah. And you know what's coming up, dontcha?" He slowed at the bridge's end and stopped at the light. He turned to Caroline and held her soft, strong hand. "Chip's boithday."

"Seriously? Oh, no. Why didn't he tell me?"

"Guess he don't like talking about it." Vito laid his head back and gazed out the sun roof to the powdery blue sky. "You woulda loved Chip. What a great kid. Kind, funny, just like his pop." He turned back to Caroline in reminiscence. "I remember last year, he wanted dis bike. It was gorgeous. Ya know, dat kid wanted dat bike so bad he did all dese chores for months saving up for it, but he still only had about a fourth of what it cost. Teddy couldn't afford it, so insteada goin' to da dentist to get a tooth pulled he was having trouble wit, you know he pulled dat thing himself and bought Chip his bike." He lifted his head and let out a hearty laugh. "And den, you know what? Danged if 'at kid didn't change his mind and want a scooter instead!" Tears streaked down Caroline's face as she listened and laughed at the bittersweet story. "Well, Teddy couldn't take da bike back 'cause he'd had it all tricked out just like Chip wanted. He ended up puttin' it away for Christmas, hopin' Chip would still want it, you know, when he saw it. 'Course, he never-" Trumpeting horns alerted Vito to drive again.

Caroline recalled that bike. A striking red-and-silver 12-speed with black trim, now dented and mangled by a very drunk, very wounded father. She sat watching the river for a time, troubled by so many things. "This is going to be a tough time for him, between Chip's birthday and what happened yesterday. I guess we have to expect some peculiar behaviors."

"Yeah, but ya know, he should be feelin' good about what he done. We got 'em, ya know, Carr? Dose two aint never gonna hoit no kids no more." At the sight of the ominous structure, Vito braced for a search and clicked on his signal. "Guess he don't see it like we do, huh?"

"No, I don't think he does, Vito."

"Too bad, 'cause I tell ya, I am feelin' no pain." He glared up at the dank, soulless building, a rush of unspeakable crimes running through his head. "Dis whole experience has been quite exhilaratin' for me. I can't thank you enough for invitin' me to do all dis fun stuff wit yous. Makes me feel like I'm parta somethin', you know, bigger 'an me, know what I mean?"

Caroline braced for the same search. She carefully lifted the approved package, undid her seatbelt, and waited for Vito to unlock the door. "And the fun, my friend, is just beginning."

_66_

"When they told me you had come back, I could hardly believe them. I wasn't certain you were happy to see me again." He moved as close as restraints would permit. "But now I know you feel the same. You do, don't you, lovely girl?" Harrison Marr didn't wait for the answer. "Of course you do. You wanted me as much as I wanted you. I could feel it, every glorious moment we were together. It was just," he looked around the gray room as if looking around the world, "them. They kept us apart."

Vito's heart pulverized his savage breast. He forced himself to recall Caroline's plea. "_Keep your cool, Veet. Just keep your cool."_ Her words skipped over and over in his brain, and he let them. It was the only way he could stop himself. Otherwise, he didn't know what he would do. The only thing he did know—that freak would never talk to her like that again. He remembered the painting. Harrison Marr's unimaginably twisted idea of rape. As the convict spoke profane words to the lady, Vito stared longingly into her face. "_Lemme do it, Carr. I don't care if I go to jail. I'll trow dis chair right tru dat glass, and I'll beat dat freak to a pulp." _He thought of Ted and the one-punch homicide._ "Oh, yeah, Carr, lemme do it!" _

Vito knew she had a plan, and he so wanted to see it through. The only problem—his fists wanted something else. He thought of her other words, "Remember, Veet … a dish best served cold." He looked up to his Maker, shut his eyes tight, and voraciously inhaled until his lungs were loaded. "_Just keep your cool."_

"I brought you something," Caroline tightened up all over, "Uncle Harry." She reached for the box and motioned to the guard. He motioned back, gesturing for her to meet him at the door. As she stood and walked to it, she could feel lewd stares following her body. It was an indignity that strangled her soul as if seizing it from God's very clutches. It had grabbed her by the throat all those years ago and had been choking her, breath by breath, ever since. She always knew that day had cut her life short.

As she walked to the door, Caroline kept her eyes on that box, fortifying her focus on one moment in the future—one sublime moment when her reprisal would be complete. As she walked back to the chair and sat down, she watched the guard carry the box to him. She watched as he opened it, his eyes lighting up, actually believing his perverted love was reciprocated. For one brief flash, she even pitied him.

'Love is love,' Harrison Marr had foully insisted that day, as he detained her young body in a most unnatural way. Since then, she'd spent years gripped in the panic of oncoming night, only to have morning grab even tighter. Through the hell, Caroline believed there had been but one thing keeping her from slipping into total madness—the thought of revenge. Once he'd gone to prison, she was sure she was out of options. Then it hit her.

She watched gleefully as Harrison Marr gently lifted one of the little meat pies from the box. "I made them especially for you ... Uncle Harry. They're organic."

_67_

"Psssst, Teddy! Pigs! Six o'clock!"

Dahlia's attempt at humor fell on a deaf Ted. The events of the weekend, from beginning to end, had taken their toll. "They're police, Miss Ratt," he firmly answered. "Police." Finished closing out the registers, he reclaimed the keys from Betsy, handed her the cherry pie she was saving for her husband, and stood at the doorway. It was something he did every night to make sure she was safe in Warren's car. He then gestured the last customer out the door. "Come on, Dahlia Louise, time to go."

"Bugguh," she mumbled, nudging Caroline. "He's just like me dad. Whenever's he's mad at me, he always uses me middle name. What's wiv 'im, anyway?"

Caroline whispered, "It's not you, sweetie. Vito and I think it's 'cause he's missing his son. It's his birthday soon."

Dahlia lowered her head and sniffled. "Oh, a-course. Theo's birfday. I'm so ashamed-a me-self." She whimpered, walked to the door, and stroked Ted's arm. "Poor thing. Poor thing."

Ted shoved her hand off him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nuffin', luv." She reached up and grabbed his collar, pulling his face to hers. "I'm here for you, Teddy," she whispered. Their attention was swiftly diverted to Vito, who dashed out from the inner office.

"Carr! Teddy!"

"What is it?" Caroline asked.

Vito flailed his arm to the window, bent down, and hushed his voice as low as he could get it. "Make like we aint here! It's da cops!"

"Yeah, I saw," Ted said. "Dahlia pointed them out. So the f- … so what?"

Caroline agreed. "We're fine, Vito. Don't worry."

Ted imprisoned his hands in front of him, locked in imaginary cuffs. "Yeah, let 'em take me. Who the hell cares if I go back to prison anyway?"

Caroline pushed Ted to a corner, Vito and Dahlia following. She knelt down, and they all huddled low. "Baby, they're right outside the door. Keep your voice down. And why are you saying that anyway? You're not going anywhere. You know Vito and I … took care of things."

"Oh, yeah," Ted replied. "You took care of things, all right. I know full well how you two took care of things. Now I know why you wouldn't tell me how you did it."

Vito blurted, "Carr said so, Teddy. Carr said it was necessary. Carr said it'd give you," he rumpled his unibrow, "possible … liability."

Caroline noted growing confusion and fear on Ted's face. "That's plausible deniability, Vito."

"Dat's it," Vito answered, "Plausi … yuh-huh."

Ted enlightened, "Caroline, plausible deniability is for corrupt politicians who pay off corrupt law and media. It's not for felons on parole who crush in the skulls of child molesters and dispose of all the evidence!"

Dahlia amended, "Crush in the skulls of child molesters who was about to off 'im wiv a machete, Teddy."

Vito chuckled, "Hey, dat rhymes! Machete, Teddy. Dat's funny."

Dumbfounded by the whole conversation, Ted shook out his brain and stood up. "This is ridiculous." He walked to the front of the shop and stood at the door. "We may as well get this over with." He opened the door and waved in the same two policemen who'd welcomed them to the neighborhood not two weeks earlier.

Officer Norton signaled behind him, and his partner fell in line. He tipped his hat. "Mr. and Mrs. Morrison. Mr. Socrates."

Caroline inquired, "Did you come in for a pie, sir?"

"No, ma'am. You remember my partner, Officer Pygmalion?"

Failing to consider the gravity of their situation, Caroline cracked up. "Seriously? That's not your real name, is it?"

The French gentleman glared at his senior partner, defending, "It is pronounced Puh-mal-yoh. Totally different spelling."

Officer Norton returned his subordinate's glare. "That's none of your concern, ma'am." He pulled a pen and notepad from his inner pocket, clicked the pen, and inspected, "I understand this establishment catered a Fourth-of-July party for one Dawna and Jackson Thakkar?"

Vito saw Ted's knees quiver, about to buckle under him. He nonchalantly stepped toward his boss and slapped a steadying arm on his shoulder. "We was sposed-ta. Why?"

Officer Pygmallon said, "And just what does zis mean, 'sposed-ta'?"

Dahlia stepped in. "Blimey. It's just 'is funny way-a toolkin', is ooll." She stood on tiptoes and straightened the officer's tie. "Say, you're dishy. Ya married?" She licked her lips, puckered up, and shamelessly blew him a kiss.

Caroline chuckled and informed, "What he's saying is, we were supposed to cater the Thakkars' party, but they canceled."

"So, you never showed up then?" Officer Norton questioned.

Ted spoke up. "Didn't you hear her say they canceled? There was no reason to."

Glad to see a spark of the old Teddy back, Caroline gave her husband a subtle wink. "Exactly."

The officer grilled, "Does it make sense to you, ma'am, that they would cancel with you, but not cancel any of their guests?"

Vito answered, "We wasn't … guests. We was just da caterers."

"So you didn't go to the party at all then?"

"Why would we," Caroline replied, "after they canceled our services? Again, we weren't," she cringed, remembering the Thakkars' concept of the word "guests."

"Do you have any idea why they would cancel your services?"

Ted took this one. "You do understand that in our business this sort of thing happens all the time? We don't like it, but it happens. Just what are these questions all about anyway?"

Officer Norton motioned to a table. "May we?" Caroline, Vito, Ted, and even Dahlia nodded 'yes.' As Ted walked to the door to lock it, the others followed the law to the table and sat. Ted joined them, cramming a chair next to his wife and glaring at Dahlia, whom he felt had no business being there but nonetheless insisted on squeezing a spot at the overcrowded table, right in between the two policemen.

Officer Norton continued his interrogation. He flipped through his notepad, cleared his throat, and read, "Friday last, July four, 147 guests arrived at Dawna T's Campgrounds, Horseback Riding, and Petting Zoo for an Independence Day picnic, but there was no sign of Dawna Thakkar or her husband Jackson." He took a moment to pull his head up from his notes, glare at Ted, then Caroline, then Ted again. He continued reading from the notepad. "Guests said the place was lavishly decorated in Americana décor. They waited for approximately 45 minutes before some of the parents decided to do a thorough search of the premises. They found Dawna T's handbag and phone in a bedroom, her computer and Jackson's laptop both still on in the den."

Ted kneed Caroline under the table at the word 'den,' and she kicked him back.

"Ouch."

Officer Norton took a moment to scowl at Ted, then continued reading. "Some of the parents said horses were tied up outside the house. Horses that typically are in the stable before a party." He looked up again. "And, speaking of the horses, that's perhaps the strangest thing of all. No one has seen the Thakkars in two weeks and yet," he tilted his head and peered down his nose at the caterers, "it appears their horses have all been exercised and fed."

Ogling 'dishy' police on either side, Dahlia exclaimed, "Blimey! I'm in a bobby sandwich!" Ted began to laugh but stopped himself, allowing a hint of a smile to remain. Caroline grinned ear-to-ear at Dahlia's insubordination. With little breathing room as it was, the Briton scooched her chair even closer to the senior officer. "I sure do love me a gent in un-ee-form. If you aint married, luv, maybe you and me can get togevvah for a little snoggin' latuh on?"

Ignoring her flirts, Officer Norton slapped his notepad shut and slammed it on the table. Raising his voice, he said, "Neither Dawna nor Jackson Thakkar has been seen since the weekend of the Fourth of July. It's as though they," he blew into his flowering fingers, "poof … vanished."

Caroline squinted at Officer Pygmallon and said, "Do you ever get to do any of the questioning? Don't you speak?" The officer remained silent, and she waved her hand in front of his face. "The rain in Spain? La pluie de Espagne? Nothin'?"

Officer Pygmallon answered, "I have no idea, madame, what la pluie en Espa, er, rain in Spain has to do wis missing persons, but oui, er, yes, I do speak."

Ted squinted his eyes at the older cop. "Haven't we met?"

Officer Norton answered, "Yes, I was here before the Fourth of July." He motioned to his partner. "Remember? We both were."

Ted said, "Of course you were. But-"

"Back to Dawna, uh, Mr. and Mrs. Thakkar," the officer interrupted, tapping his pencil on the notepad, "if you don't mind. So, when did they cancel your services?"

"I, uh, think it was that morning," Caroline answered. "Wasn't it, baby? My husband's the one who handles the calendar."

Ted followed his wife's lead. "Yes, that's right. That morning. I took the call myself. Something … about … deciding to do the party themselves, I believe. Yes."

"Now, why, Mr. Morrison," Officer Norton examined, "would they want to do that? Does that make sense to you? They were having a party for more than a hundred people."

Caroline replied, "How would we know anything about this? How would we know why they canceled? We were just the caterers. We didn't even know them. Why are you here talking to us? You said missing persons case?"

"Oui, madame, and zey 'aven't been seen since," the rookie repeated.

Ted said, "Yes, you already mentioned that. So, why aren't you out there looking for them instead of giving us the third degree? We were very upset by all of this. Hell, I didn't even want-" The expressions on his accomplices' faces urged him to temper his explanation. "Didn't want … them to cancel. They … they … didn't pay us."

"Why would zey pay you, Monsieur Morrison, if zey canceled?"

"Why? Because … we … had scads of food leftover! Because of those two si-" he felt his ankles burn from kicks on either side. "I'm sorry. It's … just that we had to donate all that food to the mission. And, Lord knows I don't mind donating to the homeless, but I really don't want to end up on the streets myself, thank you."

Officer Norton continued working them over. "Why on Earth would you make all that food if the party was canceled?"

Caroline protested, "Didn't you hear what he said? They didn't cancel 'til that morning!"

"So, you prepare all zis food ahead of time zen? Why would you do zat?"

Vito's hands spoke even louder than his bellowing voice. "Yous are joking, right?! When the hel- heck would we do it, for crying out loud?!"

"I do not know, monsieur. I suppose, er, I mean, I sought you would simply get up early in ze morning and-"

"Crikey," Dahlia interjected, "'ow early you think they can get up?! They gotta prepare food for 150 bleedin' people! When the 'ell else would they do it?!"

Just then, a screechy voice sounded from Officer Norton's shoulder. "Possible 1401, corner Houser and Main."

The officer quickly read from his notes. "So, you're saying then that you did not cater the Thakkars' party. You're saying you were not invited guests. You're saying you did not know the Thakkars prior to being hired. And you're saying you have not seen either Dawna or Jackson Thakkar since." He made a final notation in his notepad, stuffed it and the pen back in his pocket, and motioned to his partner.

As the officers stood up, Dahlia stared at their back sides, Vito groaned and shook his head, Ted huffed and threw up his hands, and Caroline smart-assed, "Will you say it, or shall I? By George-"

"I fink they've bloody well got it."

_68_

"Looks like it's time to put in an ad, Veet. After Teddy gets you trained to back him up managing the money around here, we'll be moving Betsy to the catering side full-time, and we'll need more people here in the shop."

"Sounds poifect, boss lady," Vito answered.

Betsy locked up the pastry case, set two cherry tarts on the counter to take home, and joined the conversation. "Sure does, Mrs. M. I'm excited about it. And business has been crazy like this for weeks, just crazy!" She began wiping a table, as Vito stole up behind her.

"And you're making me crazy, gorgeous." He pulled out a chair, tapped his palm on the seat, and tugged the towel out of her hand. "Allow me, misses. You just kick up dose sweet little tootsies-a yours. You desoive a rest."

Betsy looked to her boss for approval, and Caroline smiled, motioning for her to have a seat. The young woman curtsied to Vito and sat down. "You are the sweetest thing, Veet. Like a big teddy bear." As he bent to wipe crumbs off the table, she surprised him with a peck on the cheek.

"Vito, you're blushing!" Caroline squealed.

Ted sat next to Betsy and added, "Like a red hot."

As she walked past Vito to sit with Betsy and Ted, Caroline touched her finger to his arm. "That's our Veet. Tsssssss … a red-hot lover!"

"Ahh, you guys," Vito replied. "You really are making me blush."

"Hey, sweetie, "Betsy asked, "how come you're not married with a buncha kids?"

"Me? Heck," he answered, "I don't even got a goilfriend."

"How come?" Ted asked. "You're a good-looking guy."

They counted Vito's endearing qualities.

"You're smart."

"Funny."

"You have a good job, you're going places."

"Kindhearted."

"Stop it, you guys." Vito's blush reddened. "I guess it's 'cause all da goils just want me to … be naughty wit 'em. But I won't." He sat next to Caroline, and she grabbed him and pulled him closer for a hug.

"That's our Veet," she observed, "saving himself for marriage. You are so cute!" Fully aware of the twinkle that appeared in Betsy's eyes whenever Vito entered the room, she winked at Ted, adding, "Too bad Betsy's married. You two would make an adorable couple."

A disapproving Ted shook his head at Caroline, then noted Betsy's coy smile. "Now Betsy's blushing! Oh my gosh, you really are perfect for each other. That is so cute!"

"Told ya!" Caroline nudged her husband and clasped his hand.

"Oh, no, Teddy," Vito corrected. "She aint cute. She's more 'an cute. Elizabeth Cassius, you are bee-uu-tiful." He allowed himself to gaze into her hazel eyes for but one second more, then stood to get back to wiping down tables. "But let's not make her blush no more, guys. She's married, and she's a good goil."

"Thanks, sweetie," Betsy said.

"You got it." He winked at her. "Anything for you, misses."

Ted headed toward the door. "Well, I could sit here and watch Vito work all day, but that won't get the registers closed out." He searched a key ring, pulled up the master, and held it to the door. "What on Earth!" A stark white, smoke-encircled face glowed back at him against the darkness.

"Oh, that's my husband," Betsy informed. "Sorry, Mr. M. He only waits in the car for a minute and then gets a little, um, antsy." She stood up and pulled off her apron. As Ted waved the wiry man inside, Betsy smoothed back her hair, ran her finger over her teeth, and smacked a giant smile on her face. She inhaled hard and ran to him, crying, "Ramses!" Caroline nudged Ted at the farcical nickname.

Warren Francis Cassius bounced his scrawny, no-neck body into the shop and stood in the center of the room. He whistled and patted his shoulders, and Betsy came running. "There's my hottie. Oh, yeah." He flicked his cigarette butt to the floor and grabbed his wife around her waist. A stunned Vito bent to pick up the litter. "You don't gotta pick up my sh-"

"Oh, it's okay," Vito interrupted the cursing. After all, there were ladies present.

"No!" the man barked. He snapped his fingers and tossed his thumb in the cigarette's direction. "Jezzie."

"Of course," she replied and knelt to the floor. She picked up the butt and tossed it in the trash. "Sorry, sweetie. Where are my manners?"

"Exactly what I was wondering," he answered, grinning at Ted.

Betsy turned to her coworkers and blinked her eyes rapidly. "Allow me to introduce my … wonderful husband, Warren Cassius. Warren, honey, this is Vito Socrates, and this is Ted and Caroline Morrison, my bosses."

Without looking at Vito or Caroline, Warren extended his hand to Ted. "You the one who was gonna lock the door on me?"

"I'm sorry," Ted replied. "I … didn't know you were there. It's nice to finally meet you. You have a wonderful wife."

"Finally?" Warren questioned. "Nice to finally meet me? What the hell does 'at mean?" He shook his head continuously.

Ted turned to Caroline and Vito for answers. "Um, no, nothing. I didn't mean anything by it. It's … just an expression."

"Oh, so it aint nice to meet me, then, huh? Is 'at what you mean?"

Confounded for words, Ted said, "Of course not. No, what I meant was-"

"I'm just pulling your leg, there, Teddy!" Warren made like he was punching Ted in the gut. He let out a giant guffaw, pulled out another cigarette, and held it in his mouth. "Nice to meet you. Really. Real nice."

Betsy gently shoved her husband's bony shoulder. "Oh, he's always doing that Joe Pesci Goodfellas bit. Sorry, guys."

"Joe Pesci?" Warren argued. "Who the hell's Joe Pesci?" He threw an elbow around Betsy's neck and gently slapped her face. "What the hell you talking about? And why you apologizing for me, stupid woman?"

The mood in the room went downhill from ugly, as Warren released his wife, stepped back, and began bouncing on the balls of his feet. He curled up a left hook and tossed it out, stopping a foot from Betsy's jaw. She ducked, then realized he hadn't hit her. She stood straight and chuckled awkwardly. "Oh, Ramses, cut it out. They'll think you're serious."

Warren grabbed Betsy at the hips. "That's cause they don't know how bonkers I am about this hot bod, yummmm." He bent her over and buried his face in her ample chest.

Vito covered his eyes, as an uncomfortable Betsy let her body go limp. Ted stepped in to stop the distasteful scene. He touched Warren's bent-over back and said, "So, um, what do you do for a living, Mr. Cassius?"

Warren straightened himself and again snapped his fingers. "Jezzie." Betsy stood by his side and took his hand. He directed his words to Ted. "You can call me 'Cash.' Everybody does. You know, like the money, the green stuff." He pulled a wad from his pocket. "'Cause I got lots of it, and I intend to get lots more. I'm on my way up, I am."

As Warren stood speaking with Ted about his dreams of an any-day-now move to Easy Street, invisible Vito and Caroline moved to a corner.

"What … the hell … was that?" Caroline whispered from the corner of her mouth.

"I was gonna ask you. What's wit dat guy, anyhows? What a fu- … di- … ja- … nincompoop."

Caroline's body shook as she forced her laughter to remain silent. "I love you, Vito Socrates." She watched Betsy, now standing slightly behind her husband, an oddly matched pair for sure. She recalled how shy the sweet young woman had been when she'd first come to Served Cold, just months earlier. Observing the smart, caring girl with … "_what an ignoramus"_ … she watched all that shyness return before her eyes. But it was more than that. It was an uneasiness._ "Is she afraid of him?"_ Caroline thought. She cornered her eyes at Vito, whose face was red again, this time far from blushing. She leaned in. "If that creep hurts her, I'll kill him."

Vito's shade of red kicked up a notch, his neck and ears now scorched. "You and me both." His incensed fingers loudly drummed a table that held the staff's nightly discounted purchases. He spotted Betsy's cherry tarts and turned his grinning scarlet face to Caroline. Patting the bakery box, he said, "Hmmm. Know what I'm thinkin', Carr?"

She followed Vito's eyes to the dessert and threw him a wry smile. "You mean, like, am I hungry … for meat pie?"

Vito snickered and breathed a heavy snort. "Wait. What's his name again?"

"Warren."

Vito quipped, "Warren … buffet?" As inaudible as they were invisible, the co-conspirators laughed as robustly as they pleased.

Finally calming his laughter, Vito mumbled, "Warren buffet…get it? Dat's funny."

_69_

"What the hell'd I tell ya, Hec?! Look at 'em!"

An open door now exposing their secrets, Peg sprang off Jerry's lap, falling face first into the desk. She grabbed her skirt from off the floor, held it to her bleeding cheek, and adjusted her underwear to cover herself.

"You bastard!" Jerry zipped his jeans and helped Peg off the floor. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Two of Jerry's most moneyed investors, Cary Dickson and Hector Darnell, stared at the hedonistic couple's activities, both inwardly assessing the ever-dwindling value of their shares. "Damn Titanic is sinking around 'em, Hec, and these two thieves are in their office, snorting away all our stolen cash!"

Jerry dropped his assistance of Peg and stood to appease. "Calm down, guys. Nobody stole anything. As soon as we get the dance floor upgraded-"

"Upgraded?!" Dickson shouted. "The only damn thing you two Madoffs are upgrading is your coin and your coke!" He grabbed a powdery bag off the coffee table and threw it to the floor.

"Hey!" Jerry shouted. "That's four grand you just threw away! I'm taking that outta-"

"What? Outta what?!" Hector Darnell interjected. "The money you stole from us and all your other idiot investors!" He turned to Dickson. "I told ya it was a damned Ponzi scheme."

"Ponzi?" Dickson scoffed. "Hell, if it were a Ponzi, we'd be better off. At least we'd get some returns until the whole damned thing collapsed. Instead, these two crooks looted every penny for themselves!"

"Guys, guys, your money's fine," Jerry insisted. "The place is doing great. It's hopping!"

"Are you kidding?!" Dickson protested. "It's half empty up there! And on a Friday night! When Caroline was here-"

"You bastard!" At the mention of that cold bitch, Jerry's face glowed fiery red. He hurdled the desk and charged Cary Dickson, his fists thumping anything on him they could reach. He grabbed at the patsy's Brioni jacket, pulling it over his head in classic girl fight. His compressed, raging knuckles came down on the pigeon over and over.

"You're killing him!" As Jerry pummeled Dickson's oozing, pliable face, Peg saw Darnell reach in his pocket and frantically pull out his cell phone. Before he could punch in that third number, she skulked into his blind spot, seized a lamp, and shattered it down on his head. Both Peg and Jerry's marks slumped to the carpet in concurrent unconsciousness.

The swindling couple stood in the silent aftermath. Peg's shivering legs drifted her backward further and further until they hit Italian leather, landing her in a recliner.

"What are we going to do? Jerry! What are we-"

"Stop!" Jerry bent over Dickson and held fingers to his neck.

"Is he … dead? Jerry, please don't tell me-"

"He's not dead, Peg."

"What about the other one?"

He did the same again, and nodded back to Peg the good news of Darnell's pulse. Jerry rocked back on his feet, held his mouth open wide, breathed deep, and crunched the numbers. After a minute's worth of computing, he hopped up, dove to the floor, and bounced back up to his feet, clutching what was left of the cocaine bag. He reached down, grabbed Dickson's hand, and jammed his finger into the bag. He repeated the move with Darnell's hand, then wiped the substance on both of their noses. He stuffed the rest into Dickson's pocket and followed up by cleaning all visible traces of personal use.

"Good thinking, Batman!" Peg straightened in her chair and un-mussed her look. She buttoned her blouse and rubbed caking blood off her face.

"Don't!" Jerry demanded, pointing his arm in authority.

"What?"

"Don't you dare touch that blood. Or your shirt." He positioned himself at her feet, placed his palms on her knees, and spread her thighs.

Peg tossed her head back and groaned, "Oh, this is hot!"

"Don't flatter yourself," he returned. He reached in, grabbed her panties, and ripped.

"What are you doing?! Those are-"

"Shut up." With both hands, he grasped her overpriced blouse and pulled, buttons flying and dropping to the floor. He slipped a shoe off one foot, then reached up and tousled her hair. Clasping her hands in his, he pulled her up off the chair, then retrieved his phone from his pocket, pressed numbers, and lifted it to his left ear. He kissed his lover and raised his other arm.

After sucking in a huge breath, Jerry hurled a loose right fist down across Peg's face, tearing open her clotting wound. As she shrieked in pain, he pushed her to the couch and hit 'talk.'

"9-1-1 … what is your emergency?"

"I just beat the hell outta two coked-up bastards who tried to rape my wife."

_70_

Caroline sneaked up behind Betsy. "Would you look at that love bite!"

The mortified young woman ducked behind Vito and covered her neck, both their faces burning red. "She's a married lady," he declared. "She's allowed."

Hearing Caroline's juicy declaration, Ted raced out from his office. "Who's got a hickey? Not our little Betsy?!"

He stepped closer, but Vito shielded her from the attention. "She don't wanna show it."

Ted turned to his wife. "Then leave her be."

"Oh, come on," Caroline contended. "We've all had 'em. Lemme see."

As Betsy buried her head in his back, Vito held his chubby, stubby arms behind him, wrapping them around her as far as he could reach.

"Caroline, stop," a defending Ted insisted, but the curious chef was too fast for them all. She deftly scrambled past her husband, completing the running play in a concurrent tickle of both Betsy and Vito. As they giggled in unison, a laughing Caroline tried to pull down the girl's collar. Just as she'd almost gotten to it, Betsy stomped her clunky heel down on Caroline's foot and escaped, leaving her boss wincing in pain. She fled to Ted, implanted her head in his caring shoulder, and wept.

As silence overtook the room all but for the girl's sobs, Ted closed his eyes and stroked her shaking back. Betsy's weighty trembling already too much for them both, he held himself in a paralyzed stance, singing softly in his breathy baritones.

It was a delicate, natural tune Betsy recognized. She pulled her head back and sniffled in hard. "I love that song. D'you know who sings it?"

"Nick Drake," he answered. "It's called Northern Sky."

"It's at the end of one of my favorite movies." In airy coloratura, Betsy sang its words of moons and magic, as Ted hummed, unsure of the lyrics.

Though unable to hear their faint singing, she knew the story the second he had named the artist. A remorseful Caroline listened to her husband tell the story.

"It's my son's favorite song." Ted pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket. "Whenever he feels bad, Chip sings that song at the top of his lungs. Makes him feel better."

Ted lifted Betsy's chin and looked into her warm, fragile eyes. He smoothed the cloth over her cheeks, clearing her face of its thousand teardrops. "These tears," he said, "you don't need these." He dabbed her sweet eyes, as she shut them tight and permitted a tiny smile to emerge at the much-needed kindness. As he wiped away a hint of her pain, he took this chance to examine her neck. With critical stealth, he touched her collar away from her throat.

No love bite. But there were marks. "Dear God," he blurted. She jerked away from him, but he grabbed her and pulled her close.

"What?" Vito and Caroline inquired at once.

Ted held on to Betsy as tight as he could. He couldn't let her get away. He had to know. She had to tell. He gently guided her to a table, pulled out a chair, and sat her down. He knelt at her side and moved his face next to her ear so no one else could hear.

"Sweet girl, tell me."

_71_

"You can do better, Jezzie."

"I'm sorry, Ram. I thought you liked your brandy like that."

"That aint what I'm talking 'bout." Warren Cassius settled into his rented leopard sofa, kicked off his boots, and stared at his wife's bouncing bosom as it came back around.

"What then, hon? What else can I get you?" Betsy stood at her husband's feet, awaiting further instruction.

As he rearranged himself and glared at her exposed thighs, Warren accused, "If you're gonna mess around on me, you can do better 'an a fat slob like Vito Sockerty."

Betsy's insides shivered. "I … I'm not, no way, hon. I would never. And Vito's a nice boy. He would never." She made a desperate attempt to redirect his attention. "Did you hear anything yet from the casting-"

"Shut up, whore!" Warren picked up his boot and smoothed its cold snake skin. "Nice boy, huh? What nice boy messes around with a married woman?" He held the boot in front of his face, stroking its spiked toe.

"We aint, I promise you. I swear." Betsy's voice trembled, as she recalled what the boot had done to her the last time.

"Promise. Yeah. Your promises aint worth zilch," he underscored, "Jezzie." He slid to the edge of the sofa and clamped a firm grip on the boot. Holding it up to his squinting eyes, he aimed its steel toe in his wife's direction and inhaled a demonic wheeze. As he pitched his arm backward, Betsy threw up a defensive hand just as Warren slammed the boot down on the coffee table. "Bam, bitch!" He sat back, laughed fiendishly, and retrieved the brandy snifter. Giving it a twirl and a gulp, he cracked his neck and calmed his laughter. "Shoulda seen your face." His expression went brutally blank as he slowly stretched out his foot. He held it there for but a moment, then abruptly kicked at his wife's legs. His unaffected eyes followed his beloved as her legs buckled and her body thumped the coffee table. "Lousy whore."

Lying still on the floor now, Betsy whimpered softly. "Please don't call me that. I wouldn't. Not ever."

Warren gingerly set his brandy snifter on the end table and knelt to his wife. In a crude, wicked whisper, he growled, "Ma was right about you. You aint nothing but a no-good Jezebel."

Suddenly, he lunged at her, but she jerked her body away, slipping from his grasp. It was a dodge that sent her husband's face slamming into the hard wood. He shrieked, feeling the blood drip from his mouth. Betsy froze as she watched him pick up his now freshly knocked-out tooth. He wrestled to his feet and turned to face her. At the familiar rage gurgling under his ice-cold expression, she made a frenzied dash for the door, grasping wildly at its handle.

"Go ahead, whore, run!" He inhaled a loud gasp, as his voice lowered an octave in a sick, sinister tongue. "You … know … what … I'll … do."

Betsy's veins ran frosty at his terrifying expansion of the word 'do.' It was a promise he'd made many times, the first just after their blissful honeymoon_. "You ever leave me, she's mine." _More than once, he'd described the ordeal young Adeline, Betsy's kid sister, would endure if his wife ever 'betrayed' him. At this, his habitual but all-too-real threat, she dropped her hand from the door and lowered her head, sobbing into its veneer. In the cold silence, she heard his socks shuffle the floor toward her. She felt his hands touch her back and reach around to her breasts. He grabbed hard, and she sobbed louder.

"Shut up!" He jerked her body to his, twisted it, and gripped her chin. "Look what you did!" He opened his mouth wide, displaying bloody gums and a missing tooth. "How the hell am I gonna make it in show biz now, looking like this? Huh? How?!" He shook her face. "Stop crying! Aint nobody hurting you!"

Betsy whimpered, "Warren, please don't."

He shook her face harder. "Look in my eyes, whore! Who am I?!"

She opened her eyes past the tears that poured into her mouth. "Ra … Ramses."

"There you go!" he shouted. "I'm your prince, aint I? I'm your damned ruler!" He slurped in blood, hawked, and spit to the floor. "That's right. I am everything to you." He tilted his head back and declared to the sky, "And you're my damned slave!" He ran his hands all over her body. "You like that, don't you, being my slave?" She didn't answer, and he grabbed her face, squeezing it tight in his blistered, bloody fingers. "Dontcha?!"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Yeah, you like that. You like it all, dontcha?" He revealed a depraved, smirking grimace and folded his fingers together, his knuckles crackling against each other. As if holding them in a vice, he squeezed his fingers tighter, harder, as tight into a fist as he could get them. He swallowed blood, snorting, "No-good Jezebel." Spitting blood in her face, he shouted, "No-good whore!" He jerked his body back, laughed, jerked again, then jabbed an abrupt uppercut to his wife's delicate chin. The punch missed its target, and Betsy let out an agonizing wail, blood spurting from her split lip. "Quit your crying, stupid female," Warren demanded, unbuttoning her blouse.

"No, please," she pleaded, holding her bleeding lip.

"Shut up!" He yanked at her cleavage, ripping down on her blouse. "You want me to stop the bleeding, dontcha?" He pulled the garment off and held pieces to her face. "Stupid woman aint got no sense, I swear." As she held the torn blouse to her face, Betsy's attempts at quieting her sobs left her hyperventilating into her husband's chest. "Yeah, you love it, I know," he insisted. He clutched her hair and pulled her head back. With a loud smack, he slapped his hand over her face and shoved her to the ground.

This time, the young woman lay still, holding her breath and clutching fabric to her face. Her husband crept up beside her. He grabbed the torn shirt out of her hand and pushed her body flat to the floor, her mouth and chin still dripping red. Betsy tried harder to muzzle her sobs. "Shut up!" She cried louder. "What did I say?!" He threw one leg over his wife and hoisted his body up. He knelt over her, enabling full use of his arms. Looking down on her neck, he positioned his hands roundly and held them there.

"Please, please," Betsy muttered, as her husband laughed.

"Please, yeah, you love it. You're begging me, aincha? Yeah. You don't love that fat slob, do ya, Jezebel? No. You don't like fat slobs. You love my hot body. You like my muscles. You love my money, dontcha? Yeah, piece-a trash." He bent to her face, licked her cheek, and bit down on her lip, breaking its wound deeper.

As his lips and tongue lapped up the blood that drooled down his wife's neck, Warren clutched young Betsy's throat, pressing his thumbs against her windpipe. With blood smearing his fingers, he pushed his thumbs deeper, breathing heavy to her ear, "Choke, little whore." Grinning and conquering, he listened, awaiting her lungs to crave oxygen. At what he considered just the right amount of gasps, he lifted his thumbs. "Breathe, little whore." He reached down, loosened her panties, climbed up, and trespassed. Repositioning his thumbs, he continued, "Choke, little whore … breathe, little whore," staggering and panting savagely.

When it was done, Warren Cassius released a deafening, profane squawk, fell off his wife, and proclaimed, "I love you."

_72_

No one spoke. Ted shouldered Betsy's pain, as she shook uncontrollably. Afraid a man's touch could at any moment break her, he stroked an ethereal palm just above her hair, over and over.

Beyond the hush, Ted swore he could hear his wife's teeth gnashing, even as her head faced the window. Watching the darkness, Caroline breathed in, let it out, breathed deeper, let it out. The rabid equalizer wiped her tears and cycled her options. What to do with the wicked Warren? "_What to do, indeed." _Rage frothing, mind spinning, at last she landed on a simple plan. About to speak, she heard the sudden, roaring crash. Caroline, Ted, and Betsy all turned to the earsplitting sound.

Vito—next to him a vast gorge in the little shop's wall, just big enough to hurl a steel table through.

_73_

As the men stepped through the doors to temporary freedom, Hector Darnell saw Cary Dickson pull the phone from his pocket and punch in familiar numbers. "You calling your guy now?"

Awaiting his party's answer, Dickson stuffed bail papers into his breast pocket, then rescued his watch from the 'personal effects' envelope and replaced it on his wrist. "No reason to wait," he returned, raising his hand to summon a ride. "Those two bastards are gonna pay."

_74_

_"What are they up to now?"_

Ted crept up to the kitchen's swinging door and stood out of sight, listening for hints in the muffled words. Unable to decode anything consequential, he re-strategized. Bursting through the door, he shouted, "Ah-ha! In what?"

"What?" Caroline probed.

Ignoring his wife, Ted proclaimed, "I heard you, Vito. You said, 'I'm in.' In what?"

"I'm … um … in-"

"For a treat!" Caroline rescued. "Uh, I'm making … my signature dish … vichyssoise!"

Ted rolled his eyes. "Seriously? That's what you two were whispering about in here … cold potato soup?"

"But Teddy, it aint just any cold potato soup," Vito corrected. "We're talkin' Caroline Morrison's celebrated, woild-class, positively resplendent-" Caroline touched his arm, and he muttered, "Too much?" She closed her eyes and nodded.

"Spill it, Caroline," Ted demanded.

"Spill what, Romeo?" She moved in close and threw her arms around her man's sexy neck, seductively nuzzling his ear. "Mmm. Been a while, baby."

Ted tossed his wife a squinty-eyed glare. "And it's going to be a while more, unless you tell me what you two are scheming in here."

"Wow, Ted," she dropped the come-on, "I thought withholding sex in anger was woman's work."

"Caroline," he clutched her hand, "I love you. You know I do. But-"

"Vito, who's that talk radio host," Caroline smart-assed, "you know, the one who says 'everything before but is b.s.'?"

"Oooo!" Vito answered, "I know dis! It's … uh … it's-"

"Jim Quinn," Ted answered. "But that's not fair, Caroline." He reached out, brushed hair off her face, and kissed her cheek. "You know I love you, Beautiful. You know I do. I just don't want you two going around-"

"Going around what, Ted? Hmm? What?!"

"Going around doing … doing," he scanned the kitchen, his anger heating up at the sight of all those cooling meat pies. He lifted one in front of her. "Doing this!" He hurled the pie against the wall, then followed with his head. "No. No. No." For what seemed to the others like minutes, Ted stood at that wall, thumping his noggin against it, mumbling like a mental patient.

Vito leaned in to Caroline's ear. "Chip still, huh?"

She nodded. "Must be. It's hard losing a child, Veet."

Vito saw a tear drop onto her cheek. He gently placed his arm around her and turned to Ted. "We're here for you, boss. We understand."

"You're here for me? Ha!" he shrieked. "Oh, that's rich! We're here for you. We're here for you."

Listening to Ted's cackling laughter made Caroline begin to believe she was the sane one in this relationship. "Baby, what in the world is going on with you?"

"Me? What's going on with me?! What's going on with you! You're the one! Both of you! You've gone stark-raving mad!" Like a kid mid-tantrum, Ted parked his butt right in the middle of the floor and crossed his arms. "I know what you're doing, you know." He rocked back and forth. "I know. You can't hide it anymore. I know. I do. And I know you're planning something now. I know it. You can't hide it. Ya just can't. Ya can't."

Worn out from seeing the man she loved, that romantic Shakespeare-quoting boy-scout, behaving in such a manner, Caroline capitulated. "Fine! If I tell you, will you get up off the floor?" He obliged. "Yes, my love, we are planning something."

Ted hesitated, still not certain he wanted to hear it. "For … Betsy's … for Warren, right?"

Vito answered, "Who else."

"Guys, no," Ted protested. "Please no more. Nothing's been the same since the day … the day-"

"The day the molesters died?" Caroline reminisced. "Yes, Ted, nothing's ever the same, is it? Nothing's ever the same after somebody's abused, somebody's raped or molested or murder-"

"Murdered?" Ted completed. "Exactly!" He considered plopping back down on the floor, but pulled out a chair instead. "Nothing … nothing is ever the same. Trust me."

Unmoved by his familiar arguments, Caroline hopped up onto a counter. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. We're only going over there for-"

"Don't say it! Don't you dare say that word, Caroline," Ted ordered.

"What word, boss?"

"The E word!"

Vito's head filled with E words.

"He means evidence, Veet. He's afraid something might happen to the poor little rapist."

"Not fair again, Caroline. I'm afraid something will happen to you or Vito or Betsy. I'm afraid one or all of us will end up-"

"In prison? I know, baby. You don't want to go back there. But we have to step in. You know that, right?"

"Caroline, the last time we stepped in two people got killed."

"Wrong, bossman. Dey wasn't people. Dey was freaks."

"Who didn't deserve to live," Caroline enhanced. "Besides," she said, eyeing Vito's freshly baked cupcakes, "why do I have to keep reminding you it was self defense?" She selected a cake, peeled back the paper, and stared at it. "And why do I have to keep reminding you of the things they did? You … of all people." She didn't bother to look at his expression. "Anyway, we really are just going for evidence," she added, stuffing the cupcake in her mouth in one gulp.

Ted shook his head at his wife's words and actions. "Why do I have to remind you that the last time we had a plan to retrieve evidence we spent all day getting rid of it?"

Nearly choking, she answered, "You sp … sp-" Vito dashed to his boss and patted her on the back. "You spent?! Me and Vito spent!"

"Oh, of course! I forgot!" Ted ran around the room in a frenzy, pointing out cooling meat pies. "You spent the whole day getting rid of," he picked one up, "evidence!" He held the delicious-smelling object in front of his nearly crossing eyes, his head beginning a discernible spin. He mumbled, "But it's never really gone, is it? No, it's not." He closed his eyes, then opened them again, closed and opened, whispering, "It's not gone. It's still there. There it is. Not gone. Still there."

Vito interjected, "Ya know, Teddy, if you're hungry, by all means, have one. But, I gotta tell yous, I aint never seen nobody pick up a pie and eat it in da middle of an argument before. You're one strange cookie."

Caroline couldn't help but laugh. Vito realized how funny it sounded and joined in. Feeling more and more like he was alone in his sanity, Ted dropped the pie to the floor and began jumping up and down like a troll playing a name game. "What's so funny?! What's so funny?!"

Caroline halted her laughter, shouting, "All right! We're not going for evidence, okay?! Does that make you feel better to hear it?!" She picked up an enormous knife, aimed like a circus performer, and flung it at a wall poster in a one-in-a-million shot to the image's head. As Vito applauded, Caroline continued her confession. "It's not about evidence." She hopped again onto the counter and kicked up her legs in repose. "It never was." Ted's mouth dropped a foot, as his wife plucked an apple from a bowl and placidly tossed it to the ceiling. "We're gonna kill that raping bastard. Aint we, Veet?"

"Dang straight."

At that declaration, Ted's eyes twirled, his head now fully spun. As he pirouetted the room like a deranged ballerina, he moved his hands over fresh baked goods as if playing a tune that only he could hear. His concerned friends watching in astonishment, he finally stopped and stood, swaying and humming a demon-barber ditty. Unable to maintain his balance any longer, Ted lifted one of Vito's exquisitely decorated four-tiered cakes as high as he could above his head, squealing, "Raise your razor high, Sweeney! Hold it to the sky!" He barked out a mad howl and dropped the cake, splunk, to the floor.

Just in from her last catering appointment of the day, Betsy heard the commotion and swung open the door. "What in the world are you guys up to in here?"

"Hey, Bets," Caroline coolly answered. "We're just … planning a buffet."

As they all stared at the cake carnage lying face down on the floor, Vito added, "We was thinking, for dessoit, maybe … upside-down cake?"

_75_

At the sound of the sputtering Chevelle, Ted stared at all the liquor he'd downed that morning and, for just a moment, considered hiding the evidence. "_Eh, who cares."_ As he heard the car's door slam and his wife speak, his head childishly mimicked her voice._ "Thanks, Veet. Thanks, Veet."_ Listening to her high-priced heels clink up the sidewalk, he gulped the last of bottle number three. When he heard her key jostle in the door, he grabbed number four and swilled.

"Hi, baby."

"Mmm."

As Caroline set her matching jacket and bag on a table by the door, she noted a scent even more potent than their rich Italian leather. "Crikey, Ted." She snatched one of Ted's empties off the coffee table. "Real nice. All this time sober, and it's all down the drain again."

"Naah," Ted cackled, "not down the drain … ha!" Ted's insides released an obnoxious laugh, the kind that made Caroline see a totally different side of her boy-scout. "Hey, why the hell not? I don't have a wife anymore. I don't have a son anymore." He stared into the image on the bottle and clucked his tongue. "It's just you and me now, Jose. You're my only friend these days." He lay on his back and held the bottle nose-down above his head. Looking like a newborn baby bird, he poured the hooch straight down into his wide-open mouth.

Caroline stood by, watching in disgust as both Ted and their designer couch imbibed. She thought, "_Great, Ted. First your sobriety down the drain, now our ten thousand bucks." _She found a sober section of couch and sat down. "Why would you say something like that, 'I don't have a wife anymore'? Why? Because I was out with Vito trying to help Betsy? What am I supposed to do, Ted? Just stand by and let him kill her?" He turned over and faked a snore. "Ted?! Baby, somebody's gotta step in!"

Ted sprang to us feet. "Caroline! We tried to step in before, and look what happened!"

"Yes, look what happened!" she reminded. "Dozens, maybe hundreds of children were saved!" She clasped his hand and pulled him back down to the couch. "Rome, no more kids have to go through … what yours did. No more parents have to-" She stopped herself. Watching her husband curl into a ball at the other end of the sofa, she stealthily inched her way toward him. "Baby, I'm sorry." She rested her head on his body and wrapped her arms around it. "We're not going to kill him, okay?"

"Oh, this again. That's what you said the last time."

Caroline gulped in her anger. "You're making this really hard for me, Rome. I'm trying to tell you that we're just going to go over there and … talk to him."

"Talk? You're gonna talk to him? And what do you think that's gonna do?"

"Well, okay. I'm not going to talk to him. I'm just going for moral support. Vito's gonna talk to him. Maybe Benno, too."

Ted straightened up. "Benno? You're not going to drag another person into all this again, are you? You've already dragged Dahlia into it. Now you're gonna bring Benny into it, too?"

"Maybe not. I don't know." She slapped her hands on her forehead. "It … it was … Vito's idea to bring his brother along, okay? But … I don't know, maybe you're right. Maybe we shouldn't involve another person at this point. Heck, Vito and I, we're just … flying by the seat of our pants here. All we know is, we have to do something for our friend."

"How about the police, Caroline? That's usually what people do when they want to stop a crime, you know."

"And then what, Ted? Get a big bad restraining order? Protection from abuse? You do realize those things don't come with loaded revolvers attached?"

"And you think killing her husband is doing something for Betsy?!"

"I already told you we're not gonna kill him! Vito's gonna talk to him, that's all!"

"Oh, right, talk to him. You mean, like, talk to him … break his kneecaps talk to him?!"

Caroline jerked back her head and slapped her knee. "Ha! Break his kneecaps? Oh, that's hilarious. You've been watching too many wise-guy movies. No, baby, he's just gonna … lean on him a little."

Ted vaulted off the couch. "Lean on him?! And you've been watching too many revenge movies!" At that, Ted realized. "Holy cow, now I get it. Now I see. Dear God, Caroline, you really do want to be the shequalizer, don't you?" He knelt to her level, grabbed her face in his hands, and attempted to ever-so-gently shake some sense into her. "Caroline." She fixed her eyes on her husband's chest. "Caroline, look at me!" He pulled up her face and held it nose-to-nose with his. "You are not, do you hear me, not the shequalizer!" He released his wife and stood up, looking to the sky and throwing up his arms. "Hell, the shequalizer doesn't even exist!" Ted shook out his own head and grabbed bottle number five. "Wow," he said, standing and swilling, "there's a sentence I never thought I'd hear myself say."

Caroline jumped up and seized the bottle out of her already-blotto husband's hand. "Doesn't exist? Doesn't exist?!" She threw the full bottle to the wall, liquor spraying everywhere. "The hell she doesn't!" She snatched up her purse, threw her jacket over her shoulder, and headed for the door. "I'm her! She's me! I am the damned shequalizer! And I'm gonna … shequalize the whole damn world!"

Ted gave his mad wife mad chase. "Caroline, everyone has bad in them!" He grabbed at her coat to keep her from leaving. "Every … every-" They wrestled for the coat. "Ev … dammit, give it to me!" The force pulled the lovers to extremes, and Ted shouted with gritting teeth, "Everybody's done bad things!" As Caroline's conquest of the coat battle propelled Ted backward into his full-bottle stash, he shouted, "What the hell are you gonna do, shequalize seven billion people?!"

Tossing the coat to the floor after all, Caroline opened the door, then turned back to her clueless husband. "If I have to, yes! Hell, maybe I'll start a franchise!" She turned again to the outside world and declared, "Seven billion served cold!"

_76_

Caroline and Vito watched Ted's car make its way up the cottage's meandering driveway. When it reached the top, they looked in wonder at each other as the man inside sat for a time, waiting for God knows what. At last, the lock clicked and the door opened.

"I'm glad you decided to join us, baby." Caroline hesitated for just a moment, then ran to her husband and kissed him hard.

His concerned eyes looked lovingly into hers. He pulled her close and kissed back, harder. Without releasing her, he said, "I'm only here to stop you from doing this."

She rolled her eyes and wriggled out of his grasp. "Oh, brother. Who you supposed to be, Ted? Tony from West Side Story?" She locked up her truck and walked to Vito's Chevelle. "You know how that ended, don't you?"

"Very badly, which is why I'm worried that-"

"Ready, Veet?" Caroline interrupted, nodding to her accomplice.

"You betcha, boss." Vito walked to the driver's side of his car and thought for a moment. "West Side Story. I love dat movie."

"Everybody likes that movie, Vito," Ted informed, "but this isn't a rumble. It's a murder."

"Murder? No way," Caroline corrected. "You said it yourself, defense of others is not murder."

"A-ha!" her husband indicted. "So you are going there to kill him! I knew it!"

"Stop it!" she demanded. "You're trying to … to … trip me up. No, I, uh, no, we're just going to-"

"Yeah, yeah, talk to him," Ted scoffed. "Caroline, that defense-of-others thing only applies while a crime is being committed. You do know that, don't you?"

"Why do you think we're going at night, boss? We was actually thinking maybe we could catch him … you know-" Vito closed his eyes, thinking of the horrible thing.

Caroline finished it, "In the act."

"Wait," Ted said. "You're hoping to catch him doing … to Betsy … what he-"

"Hoping? Of course not! But do we have a choice?" Caroline argued. "She said he forces himself on her a lot. He thinks he owns her, body and soul. Doesn't give a damn if she's willing or not."

"So what, you're just gonna keep going over there every night 'til you catch him … catch him-"

"Say it, Ted," Caroline insisted. She shoved her face in his. "Say it! Raping her! Yes, Ted, that's what he does … he rapes her. And he almost choked her to death!" She opened the passenger door. "Look, I'm done talking about this. Our minds are made up. We're going over there to talk to him, but … honestly? Whatever happens happens. We're not gonna stand by and let him kill our friend. Now, are you in, or are you out?"

Ted leaned on the back door of the Chevelle. "You promise this'll be the last time for … all this?"

"Yeah, yeah, baby. Last time." She stepped back to her husband, pushed her body into his, ran her hand under his shirt, and kissed him seductively. "Mmmm. There's something about justice that makes me feel like-" she whispered and licked in his ear. Releasing a tiny grin at her suggestion, he patted her behind and pulled her closer into him. The lovers let out a simultaneous moan.

"Dere's motel rooms right down-a street," Vito said, covering his eyes.

"Smartass," Caroline replied, heading for shotgun. "You didn't really think we were gonna murder anyone, did you, baby?" she added, as she slid into the car.

"I'm not sure anymore," he divulged, settling into the back seat.

"I could never go through with it," she explored. "At least, I'm pretty sure I couldn't."

Vito bent into the window. "Eh, I think I could."

"Just get in, Veet," Ted yelled out to him.

Vito wrestled his husky body into his petite car, buckled himself in, and said, "Tony from West Side Story, huh?" He old-school rolled down the window and revved up the engine. "I was always partial to Riff myself." As he slammed on the gas and zipped down the driveway, he stuck his head out the window singing, "Tonight, tonight, won't be just any night-"

_77_

"Okay, now Betsy said Warren has the same routine every night. Smoking jacket, brandy, singing, sex whether she wants it or not, pass out." Caroline's frankness induced Vito's face to redness. "I'm sorry, Veet. I know you how feel about her, sweetie."

Confident he was among trustworthy friends, Vito didn't bother denying it. "I just want her to be safe."

"We all do," Ted assured. He scooched forward to be part of the front-seat conversation. "So, do we have a plan here?"

"I told you, baby, whatever happens happens."

Ted swallowed in some of his fear and tried to prepare for the worst. Fully aware that the angry woman in the front seat and her smitten sidekick had been grilling Betsy for the past week, he continued his questioning. "So, what happens if we get there and, I don't know, he's asleep or something?" Caroline and Vito exchanged a guilty glance, further nailing Ted's suspicions. "Crap," he grumbled, sitting back and struggling to put his mind on other things. Unable to do so, he again tried for answers. "Caroline?"

"Hmmm?"

"What if he's asleep? What, we just come back every night until-"

"I have no idea, baby. Told ya, we're flying by the seat-"

"Betsy says he's a real heavy sleeper," Vito chipped in.

"So what does that mean? You're just going to murder him in his sleep or something?"

Caroline chuckled. "Nobody's going to murder him, Ted. I promise you, we won't murder him."

They all pondered the statement for a bit. Ted finally broke the silence. "So, he's a heavy sleeper, huh?"

Vito recalled recent conversations with the object of his affection. "Dat's what she said. But she also said he sleepwalks."

Caroline laughed. "Oh my gosh, that's right! Remember what she told us happened when they first got married? The C-PAP and the fire and everything?"

Ted said, "What? What happened?"

Caroline replied, "She said she was scared out of her wits when there was a fire in their hotel."

"Yeah, on da honeymoon!"

"Apparently," Caroline continued, speaking and laughing, "the fire alarm went off and he just slept right through the whole thing!"

Vito joined her laughter. "She said da fire trucks was dere, all da people was shuffling tru da hallways, and dere was Warren, just snoozing away in his C-PAP!"

"C-PAP?" Ted probed.

"Yeah. You know, baby, his breathing machine. He's got sleep apnea."

"So how'd she finally get him outta there?"

Vito patted Caroline's arm. "Member what she said, Carr? She had to pour dat pitcher-a ice water on his face to get him to wake up! I didn't wanna laugh when she was tellin' it, but I sure was crackin' up inside! She said she was afraid he was dead!"

"Too bad he wasn't," Caroline observed.

Ted snickered. "She poured ice water on Warren's face … while he slept?!"

"Yep," Vito answered. "She said good thing he's gotta have a pitcher-a ice water next to him every night by his bed 'cause dat was de only thing she could think of to wake him up in time." He stopped the old car at an intersection and turned toward the discussion. "A-course, now she said she's a-scared about his heavy sleepin' and all, on account-a dey don't-"

"Oh, right," Caroline said. "They don't sleep in the same room."

"Wait," Ted said. "You're kidding, right? They have separate bedrooms? Already? They're so young."

"Since da foist year dey was married." Vito picked up his foot at the green light, and the car puttered forward.

Caroline turned and whispered, "Baby, he brings home other women."

"No. Caroline, no. Right under her nose, he-"

"Sometimes even prostitutes."

"No, no, no."

Vito looked through the mirror at his boss. "See why we gotta help her, Teddy boy?"

The air went thick and silent for a long time until Ted just had to ask, "So how did our sweet little Betsy end up with this lunatic, anyway?"

"No idea," Caroline answered. "High school sweethearts maybe?"

"Nope," Vito corrected. "She said dey met at a Sinatra sound-alike contest in Joisey. He won foist place. She said she's a sucker for a crooner. Sure wish I could sing."

Caroline chuckled. "Sweetie, your 99 bottles of beer on the wall could bring down the house." Vito forced a smile, but instead his eyes welled with tears. She moved closer to him and set her head on his shoulder. "It'll be okay. We'll make sure he never hurts her ever, ever again."

At that critical admission, Ted said, "Good Lord. What are you two really up to here?"

Caroline sucked her teeth and released a moany sigh. "Ted, do you want us to take you back home?"

"No," he insisted. "I really want to help Betsy. We have to. I just don't … know if … we should go in without a plan."

Vito reminded, "What difference does it make, boss? We had a plan da last time, and look where-"

"True," he broke in. "Still."

Vito clicked on his right turn signal. He pulled his car to the shoulder and shut off the engine. He readjusted his rearview mirror and looked Ted in the eye. "You know what, boss, dis is up to you. You think long and hard about it. You're da one who held her while she was shaking dat night. You're da one who seen 'em marks on her neck. You're da one who consoled her while she cried telling us what he done to her. You just sit dere and think a bit." Caroline winked at Vito, impressed with his razor-sharp insight and rational approach. They awaited the verdict. When Vito finally saw Ted's troubled expression relent, he rotated his body to the back seat and said, "So, whatya say, boss? Let's do dis thing?"

Ted breathed in mounds of oxygen and held it in his lungs, as though anesthetizing his brain. "Let's do dis thing."

As they headed back into the darkness, Ted looked out the Chevelle's dingy window at the gloom ahead. He recalled a grim night from his past and allowed himself, for a very brief moment, to remember something he promised years ago he'd bury forever. The name hammered his brain. "_Randall Dutton Shea. Randall Dutton Shea." _The drunk driver who killed Trudy. What would his life look like now, he wondered, if they had never crossed paths?

Ted shook the name out of his head, promising never to exhume it again. He rolled down the window and inhaled exhaust-filled air.

_"Whatever happens happens."_

_78_

Vito shut off the lights two blocks from Betsy's house.

"Why'd you do that?" Ted asked.

The driver clicked the lights back on. "Not sure. Guess I was a-scared."

"I'm scared too, sweetie," Caroline related.

"I'm more a-scared for Betsy, dough," he replied.

The tires rustled over the coarse ground outside the house, and Vito shut off the lights again. They all sat, staring up at the big old house. Though there was no physical similarity, to Caroline it resembled the prison that housed Harrison Marr. "_Nothing cozy about this place either,"_ she thought. What Ted saw in that house was a bleak future. Vito saw Betsy dead if they didn't do something—and do it now. He unlocked the doors.

"Let's-" the others joined in, "do dis thing."

As the giant had covered himself in head-to-toe pitch-black garb, Vito's exceptionally pale face seemed to Ted over-illuminated against the darkness. He chuckled, and the others instructed, 'Shhhh!' The three of them stepped ever-so-silently over the gravel, through the gate, and up the sidewalk.

Ted wondered aloud, "Why are we being so-"

"Shhh!" Caroline whispered, "You're talking too loud."

Ted continued, this time carrying his baritones much softer. "I was going to say, why are we being so quiet? Aren't you going there just to talk to him?"

"Da house is totally dark, boss," Vito pointed out. "He must be asleep."

"So why don't we just turn around and-"

"Ted, dammit!" Caroline stopped. "Whatever happens happens! Now come on." A light turned on in the house. "Oh no," she whispered. As the light shone on them, Caroline and Ted could see Vito wiggling up and down, his hand behind him. "Veet? Are you okay?"

"Pardon me, Mrs. M.," he replied. "My undies is too tight. I got a biggie-sized wedgie. Perhaps we should go back so's I can change 'em?" He tugged again at his underwear, this time even bigger.

Caroline couldn't stand it. "Don't make me laugh!"

"Nice, Veet," Ted observed. "Real nice."

Vito rolled his eyes to Caroline. "I sure wish we could do one-a dese capers witout yous ruining our fun, Teddy."

"These are not capers!" Ted asserted.

"Capers!" Vito declared. "I sure do love 'em. Hey, Carr, maybe we make our next meat pies wit capers, huh?"

"Yummy … great idea."

"Enough!" Ted shouted. Those damned meat pies. It was just one more thing he couldn't think about right now.

"Shhhhh!" they heard, coming from the house. They looked up and saw Betsy's curly red head sticking out an open window. "They can hear you guys all the way across the river! Now, shoo! Go around back."

The gang followed the sidewalk to the back of the house. When the sidewalk ended, the open door's light guided them through the backyard. The men stood back to allow ladies first, and Caroline stepped to the front of the line. She walked into the kitchen, popped bubblegum in her mouth, and quipped, "So where's the prince of Egypt?"

"Just like always," Betsy replied, ushering in the others, "passed out." She peered her anxious eyes on all sides of the night, then shut the door and pulled down the blind.

"Damn," Caroline said. "He's asleep already? It's not even nine-thirty. That's gonna ruin my fun."

"Yeah," Betsy informed. "After he did his Jersey Boys thing, he drank the rest of the brandy and passed out on the couch."

"Jersey Boys?" Ted inquired.

"It's his favorite movie. One night he sings to his Sinatra records. Another night, it's Tony Bennett. Tonight it was Frankie Valli."

Vito said, "So he's on the couch?" The living room in full view of the kitchen, he walked to the fridge and looked past it, but didn't see a body.

"Not anymore," Betsy said. "He did the sleepwalking thing and went up to his bedroom by himself."

"You're kidding, right?" Ted said.

"Not kidding. He does it all the time. Puts the breathing thing on his face and everything, all the while he's sleepwalking. It's kinda creepy, but sometimes I can't help but laugh. If he knew I was laughing at him, he'd prolly kill me."

Both Caroline and Vito threw Ted the same look of 'still think we're not doing the right thing?' Ted nodded back, with a look of 'maybe you're right.'

Somebody had to ask it, and Caroline figured she may as well be the one. "So, did the pig … do it again tonight?" The look on Betsy's face told the story. There was no doubt.

"Where is he?!" Vito shouted. "I'm gonna kill him! I'm gonna kill dat bastard!"

Ted held Vito's stubby arms behind him, wrestling to keep him restrained. "Wow, Veet. In all the years I've known you, I've never once heard you swear."

"I don't give a damn!" he screamed again, pulling away from his boss. "I'm gonna kill him! I'll go to prison, and I don't give a-" he stopped himself at what he almost said. As Vito shut his eyes in shame, the six other eyes in the room widened.

Caroline erupted in laughter. "Baby boy! What you almost said!"

Vito buried his face in her shoulder. "My momma would slap me upside my head if I said dat woid … especially in front-a ladies. A thousand pardons."

Betsy reached up to him. "Come here, darlin'." He bent down, and she softly touched her lips to his cheek. For a moment that belonged only to them, she whispered faintly, straight to his ear. "You're a true gentleman, Mr. Socrates, and a true friend." She clasped his moist hand. "Come on guys, this way."

They followed Betsy up a creaky staircase and down a long hallway. "His bedroom's at the end of the hall here. He likes his privacy."

"Pig," Caroline muttered. She stopped just long enough to temporarily quell her anger. No need to waste it.

"What's 'at, Mrs. M?" Betsy asked, allowing the others to go ahead of her.

"Nothing. Not a thing." Now in the back of the line, Caroline caught Vito again tugging at his underwear. Both she and Betsy giggled.

"You all right, Vito darlin'?" Betsy inquired.

"Oh, my goodness, I am so embarrassed. A thousand pardons, misses. I didn't know you was back dere."

Caroline picked up her pace and slapped Vito's shoulder. "No worries, sweetie. Happens to all of us."

"I told you guys I needed to go back and change my undies. I told you dey was too tight."

No one attended any longer to Vito's wardrobe malfunctions, as they arrived at Warren's bedroom and Betsy pushed open the door. There was a collective gasp above the hush, all four bracing for 'whatever happens.' They stood still, as their eyes adjusted to the darkness inside with just a hint of light from the hallway. A loud, Vader-like hum emitted from the room.

"That's his breathing machine," Betsy whispered.

"It sounds like a damn thunder storm," Ted observed.

"Oh, no, not that," she replied. "He has a sound machine turned up even louder so he don't have to hear the machine."

"Wow," Caroline said. "He must really be a heavy sleeper. Sounds like an outdoor rock concert in there. And it's freezing, too."

"Like an icebox, "Vito appended.

No longer afraid of waking the pig, Caroline stepped in front of the others and led the way to his bed. She stood over his sleeping body and sneered. "_I could take the bastard out right now,"_ she thought. "_All I have to do is shut off that damn breathing machine." _She laughed and mumbled, "Like shooting dung beetles in a barrel."

"What's 'at, Carr?" Vito asked.

"Uh, nothing," she answered, realizing she'd spoken that last fantasy aloud. "So now what?"

Ted said, "It's clear to me. I don't know why it isn't to you two. You came here to talk to him, Vito, and he's down for the night, so I say we go home, come back tomorrow."

"Go home and come back tomorrow?" Caroline said. "This aint Oz. We're staying. We're killing the bastard."

Betsy gasped. Vito wrapped his stumpy arms around her, enveloping her in his protection. "Dis is Betsy's decision."

"No, it isn't!" Ted rested his weary body in a leopard chaise that matched Warren's other leopard everything. "Come on, let's think this through, guys. We haven't killed … well, we haven't murdered anyone yet." He breathed a deep, melancholy sigh that rivaled Warren's breathing machine. "Well, you haven't. Trust me, I know what it's like to have that sorta thing on your conscience." Betsy gripped Vito's clammy hand tighter. Caroline looked up to the ceiling, popping two more pieces of gum in her mouth. "And I know what it's like to live with the consequences."

Caroline blew a bubble and threw her palm at Ted. "Blah, blah, blah. I say we do it." She glared again at the snoozing rapist and thumbed to the C-PAP's hose. "All we gotta do is phhhhhhhhhtt and," she gestured across her throat, "kkkeeeeeeeeekk."

Vito tried his darndest not to laugh, only because Betsy was in the room. He felt her soft hand tug him over to the bed. She looked down at her sleeping, breathing husband. "He looks so innocent, almost sad in that thing."

Caroline sneered, "Yeah, almost human." Ted's incensed glare pierced his wife, even from across the room. "What's your problem?" Caroline shrugged her shoulders, and Ted nodded to Betsy. "Oh, come on! How many times is he gonna rape and choke her before-" Betsy gushed loud sobs. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but somebody had to say it. And for some reason, it's always gotta be me. I always have to be the one to say what everyone else is thinking." She stepped to her friend and patted her hand. "Betsy, honey, remember what he made you do?"

"What?" Ted asked.

Vito recalled the horror. "Yes, sweetheart. What if you get … what if you're … in a family way again? Is he gonna make yous-"

"No," Ted said, realizing. "He didn't force you to have-"

Betsy's sobs heightened. As she embedded her face in her boss's soft shoulder, Ted engulfed her with as many sheltering arms as he had. Her friends could barely make out her words over the hyperventilating. "I wanna … be a … mommy."

Vito sniffled and put his arms around Betsy and Ted. "You're gonna make a wonderful mommy, misses."

Caroline stepped in. "I say we do it. Now."

"We all know what your vote is, Caroline," Ted cited. "I say we turn him in to the police."

Caroline pushed Betsy's collar away. "Police?! Look what the bastard did to her before! What do you think he's gonna do to her after she has him arrested? You think she'll live through that?"

"Hey, I know how we can settle dis!" Vito asserted.

"What?" they all asked.

"Rock, paper, scissors!"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Ted threw up his hands.

"Sounds good to me," Caroline affirmed. "I'm a champ at that game."

Ted witnessed the others amass into a huddle. "You were serious?! I thought you were joking!" He backed his legs into the leopard fainting couch and thought_, "Get ready."_

"One, two, three-"

"I win!" Caroline squealed.

"Yes!" Vito added, and the two high-fived.

"Well, okay," Betsy conceded. "Just make sure there's no blood. I can't take it if there's blood."

"What's a little blood between friends?"

The chill in the room kicked up, as Vito, Ted, and Caroline all realized the question came from a different voice. Ted's trembling head and wide eyes slowly turned to the bed. "He's awake!"

"No, he aint," Betsy calmed. "He's just doing the sleepwalking thing. That's his favorite line from his favorite movie."

Ted thought for a second. Having seen it, he calmed his alarm and said, "Right. Christopher Walken. Jersey Boys."

"That's the one," Betsy endorsed. "He should go back to sleep … oh no!"

"What?!" they all shouted.

"What?" they all whispered.

The four friends froze, watching in awe as the sleepwalker sat up, pulled the hose off his face, jumped to his feet, and got into position.

Betsy squealed, "The gig!"

"You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes offa you. You'd be like heaven to touch. I wanna hold you so much."

The slumbering man crooned in the mellowist of croony voices. His velvety vocals had Betsy swaying with twinkling eyes and Vito declaring, "He's good!"

As her Sinatra-sound-alike purred through every verse, another revelation came to Betsy. "Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!"

"What?!"

"Guys, whatever we're gonna do, we better do it now!"

"Why?"

"'Cause pretty soon … comes … comes-"

"What?!"

"The part!"

"What part?"

"If he gets to the part, he's gonna wake up!"

"The sight of you leaves me weak. There are no words left to speak. So if you feel like I feel, then-"

"Hurry!"

"-know that it's real. You're just too good to be true. Can't take-"

"Too late!"

"-offa you." The singing stopped. Warren stretched out his arms and shouted, "Everybody!"

Nothing to do now but follow Betsy's lead. As she motioned for backup and hopped sideways, they all four-seasoned to Warren's Frankie.

"Ba-da. Ba-da. Ba-da-da-da-da. Ba-da. Ba-da daaaaaaaaaaa."

"I love you baby, and if it's quite all right, I need you baby to warm a lonely night. I love you baby-"

-and Warren was silent. He calmly placed the breathing hose over his face and fell to the bed, unconscious again.

Amazement, disbelief, astonishment, shock—no thesaurus had enough words.

"What … the … hell?" Caroline said.

"He stopped right in da middle," Vito noted.

"Yeah," Betsy informed. "He always stops just before he gets to the 'trust in me' part."

At that, Caroline pushed through. "Time's up. He's a dead man. Ready, Veet?"

Still fighting his girdle scourge, Vito said, "Hold on." In a final attempt to conquer biggie-sized wedgies, he leaped into the air as high as a giant could get. With surprising agility, he swept back down into a jiggling wriggle and reached his hand as far into the back of his pants as it would go. As he yanked a Herculean pull downward, his sweaty fingers slipped, let go of the too-tight undies, and catapulted his chunky arm, smack into the wall. Overcorrecting, he lurched forward, sending his massive body over the night stand.

As if in slow motion, Warren's pitcher of ice water jostled, hovered, stopped, moved again, and teetered. They all stood motionless, unable to stop it, as it tottered, wobbled, descended, and finally careened over the side of the bed. A splash of freezing puddles plopped directly onto the snoozing rapist's head.

Suspended in fright, the backup singers held a collective breath. They watched as Warren, now fully awake, sprang up in his bed. At the sight of intruders, he tried to scream, but the breathing machine wouldn't permit. In frenzied hysteria, he flung his body left and right, flapping and flailing, jerking and twisting, all the while working the hose into a coiling helix around his neck. The more he twisted, the tighter the gadget closed in on his throat. Now in complete panic, he reached under his pillow.

Betsy looked to Vito for help.

Vito looked to his bosses for guidance.

Caroline blew her best bubble yet.

Ted rushed in to aid the twisted man.

Boom! Plaster crumbled onto their heads.

"Baby, he's got a gun! He's shooting at you!"

"I'm trying to help you, you idiot!" Ted shouted. "Let me help you!" Seeing gunmetal coming at him, he ducked down aside the bed. He reached over his head, feeling for the breathing hose.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

"Baby, get the hell outta there! He's gonna kill you!"

As Caroline seized Ted's arm snatching him out of the line of fire, Vito grabbed Betsy and pushed her to the hallway. As they hurled their friends to safety, a hail of gunfire rang behind them.

Last to escape, Caroline pulled the door shut. She stood for a moment at the den of iniquity, grinning at Warren's snorts of demise. She pushed the door open again. As though waiting for the last of microwave kernels to pop, she listened intently as his death gasps dwindled. She tilted her head, blew a final bubble, and said, "Choke, little whore."

_79_

"I sure wish you had something stronger," Betsy sniffled, accepting the glass of water from Vito.

"Ginger ale?"

"Perfect."

Ted knelt at Betsy's trembling body and reached a hand into his back pocket for his reliable handkerchief. Dabbing lightly at her tears, he said, "This hankie's seen some action lately." She let out a soft chuckle that instantly turned to sobs. "You're staying with us for a while, sweetheart." She looked up at Caroline, who nodded a firm 'yes.'

Vito said, "I'd invite you to stay wit me, but it aint appropriate for a single fella such as myself to have a gorgeous lady such as yourself stay overnight at an unwed gentleman's domicile, you understand."

Betsy wiped her hand upward on her nose and chuckled softly. "I understand."

Still kneeling in front of her, Ted looked into the eyes of the newly widowed Mrs. Cassius and wiped more tears with his thumb. "Cry as long and hard as you have to."

Caroline stood drumming her fingers on pastry cases and clucking her tongue. "Oh, for God's sake, the man treated her like dirt! He damn near killed her! She should be rejoicing!"

Ted stood, patted Betsy's shoulder, and turned to his wife. He gently took her face in his hands and pecked her lips lightly. "Caroline, Beautiful, I love you with all my heart, so please don't take this the wrong way. Go home."

_80_

"Oh, sista, if you've only got a hundred thou to spend, you might not be able to afford some of your first choices," Piper Ness informed the bride-to-be.

"Then we'll just have to do two," Peg insisted.

Judy perched herself on a stool above them, swilling fine French wine. "Ts ts ts. Your groom is not going to like that," she mocked, "sista." Only half finished with one bottle, she uncorked a second and alternated gulps between them. "Your restaurant isn't doing the business it did," she smirked, "when Chef Caroline ran it." Peg gritted her teeth and balled her fist under the bar, as Piper nudged her to ease down. "And now that Tommy Ray's leaving, you guys might have to close down altogether."

"I told you, Judy, Tommy Ray is not leaving," Peg contended. "That redneck's been threatening to quit since we took over the place."

"I wouldn't count on that redneck sticking around much longer," Judy provoked. "And when he goes, you can kiss your lavish new lifestyle sayonara. He'll take half your customers with him." She deliberately kicked Piper's leg as she rose from the bar and headed for the living room. "Better scale back that party, Nessie."

"Stop calling me that," Piper demanded. "And she's not scaling back. Are you, sista?"

"Hell, no! That bastard owes me." The two ladies giggled and high-fived. "He better not touch a thing. 'Cause, well," she leaned in close, "let's just say I know where the bodies are buried."

Judy's ears perked up. "Literally?"

With a secret or two she was dying to tell, Peg's squinty eyes peered left and right. She thought for a second, then decided against it. "It's just an expression."

"Damn. And I th ... thought things were just abou ... bout to get interesting." Judy choked down the last of the reds, then stared at the whites, wondering what would happen if she mixed-

"_Oh, what the hell."_

She uncorked two bottles of white, staggering again.

Peg turned to Piper, snickering, "Does it really matter at this point if she mixes them? She drank two entire bottles herself already!" They laughed until Peg caught a glimpse of the toppling inebriate. "Don't you dare throw up on my Italian sofa!" She turned back to Piper and whispered, "Witch."

"You … you … ugh … two," Judy stammered, "you … you and … what's his name … Gerald Oliv … or whatev … Dougherty," she stood over the sofa, oscillating and hiccupping. "Da … amn, he's hot!" She bent over and nearly fell into the couch, never finishing her thought.

"Watch it!" Peg screamed. She dashed to the drunk and snatched the uncorked bottles just before disaster struck.

"It's whi … white. At least it aint the bur … bur-" she let out a loud burp, nearly falling again, "-gundy I was drinking before. Now that was funny!" She slapped Peg's shoulder and plopped head-first onto the sofa, fortuitously executing a perfect-10 somersault that ended with an obnoxious snore.

The two conscious women looked at each other and burst into laughter. Finally, Piper said, "Come on. Let's get back to this. I don't know why you invited her anyway."

"Are you kidding? She's been rubbing my nose in her marriage and everything else for years. It's my turn, sista."

"I guess. Anyway," the party planner said, reaching for her list, "we've taken care of the venue-"

"The restaurant, of course," Peg interrupted.

"Of course. Where else? And we've got the decorations handled. The entertainment." She bobbed her head and hummed, penning next to each item. "Mm- hmm. Yeah. Got it. Looks like we've just got, yes," she flipped through papers, "the caterers. Now, I remember you said you don't want to use your own chef-"

"Yeah," Peg replied, thumbing to Judy. "We've got to do better than that."

"Right. So, I've got some stuff here. Oh where is it?" She picked up a folder and flipped through more pages. "You've simply got to go with that new one that's got social media buzzing."

"Oh, Jerry and I don't pay any attention to any of that computer garbage. That's pretty much the only reason I agree to keep that hayseed Tommy Ray around."

"Well, that's why I'm here. Now, they're kind of far away, but I've heard the food's amazing. And they're so hot right now, your engagement party will be the hit of the season." She pulled her head up from the papers and snapped her fingers. "Let Judy try and top that!" She shuffled through a third folder, adding, "Crap, I can't remember the … oh what is it called? You know, that place where they serve everything cold?"

A boisterous cackle resonated from the living area, as Judy's head popped up from the sofa. "You … mea … ean … Ser … Served Cold?'" She let out an earsplitting belch, dropped back to her repose, and rolled over. "Id … idiot."

_81_

The long drive. The river. The bridge. These were becoming quite familiar to them. They were even getting used to the sights and sounds of the prison itself. Caroline recalled the first time they drove up to it, how grim and foreboding it all seemed. Now it was just another 'caper,' as Vito had called it. Of course, of all their recent adventures, this one was, by far, her favorite. True, it wouldn't end with Harrison Marr's indecent blood spattered about a bathroom floor or his neck garroted in a rubber tube. But just the thought that she could finally get a little revenge—how had Vito put it? "_Makes me feel all alive inside."_

"How many more times you thinkin' for dis, Carr?"

"Mmm. Don't know. I'm having fun watching him get all excited. I'd kinda like it to last. I love watching him squirm."

"Can't say I'm hatin' it neither. 'Course, I don't like seeing you squoim."

"You're so sweet, Veet."

"I like dat, sweet Veet."

"I like Sweet Veet, too," she chuckled.

"So, a few more, huh, den da big finish?"

"Yup." She felt for the pastry box next to her. "I'm thinking the last one, we put a little, uh, love note inside, so he thinks … you know."

Vito's eyes lit up. "Oooo, yeah! Hey, lemme write something too, 'kay?"

"You bet, Sweet Veet." She thought_, "It's so nice having someone who understands."_

As always, they both tightened up just as the car's turn signal clicked left. "I sure won't miss dat sight, I'll tell ya dat." Vito pointed to the massive looping wires amid the manned towers. He pulled up to the booth and handed over his keys. "'Course, at least we getta leave, huh, Carr?"

Caroline clasped her jacket and pastry box. "You bet."

"I see dat grin on your face. You're thinking-a old Uncle Harry locked up in dere for da rest-a his freako life, aintcha?" As her grin grew to another wry smile, he added, "Now, dat right dere? Dat's somethin' I never get tired-a seein'."

_82_

"I ate the last box in a day, they were so scrumptious." Harrison Marr held the pastry box open on his lap, fondling the miniature pies inside. "I get so little that's pure in these lodgings; I must keep them all in my suite, away from the other denizens." He lifted a pie from the box and held it in front of his eyes. "It's made me a bit unpopular, as there is little in the way of luxury here." He seemed almost mesmerized as he fixed his glare on the pastry. "But there is something about me the other gentlemen find a bit daunting. A quality that causes them to leave me be. I believe it's my exemplary character that intimidates them." Vito nudged Caroline. "Nonetheless," he continued, "these pastries must be all mine." He closed his eyes and swabbed his tongue all over the pastry, emitting a nauseating 'mlaaaaah' sound. "You see, lovely girl, when I eat them," he wheezed in, "I cannot help but think of you." He shoved his free hand under the table and, just as Vito was about to toss his chair through the glass at the filthy fiend, a guard rushed the inmate.

"Hands on the table, Marr!" The overseer stood by, slapping a club against his palm. "Both of 'em!" He awaited the convict's obedience. "And keep 'em there, where we can see 'em, Marlene." He sauntered back to his place next to a second guard and muttered, "Freak."

Caroline swallowed as much hatred as she could. "We … I … so enjoy making them for you … Uncle-" She couldn't finish it, and so left it at that. "You have no idea."

Vito hid the grin he felt inside. "_Yeah,"_ he thought_, "yous got no idea how much we're enjoyin' dis." _He let a snigger release and turned it into a throat clear.

"Must he," the prisoner beseeched, "must he always accompany you?" He glared at the large man sitting to Caroline's right, then moved in closer to the glass, as if only she could hear him. "You have no idea how I yearn to be alone with you. I'm dying inside." He moved his hand under the table again, but heard the shuffle of clunking boots and instead threw it up against the glass. "At least I have the memory of that … glorious day." Caroline could almost hear Vito's anger boiling at the molester's twisted recollection of her 13th birthday party. "Please," the felon begged, "next time come alone."

"Uncle … Harry," Caroline straightened her posture in the chair, held her chin high, and released a tiny shudder, "you wouldn't want me to come here, to a maximum-security prison, alone, would you?"

An expression of horror overtook his face. "Lovely girl, my sweet innocent little girl, oh, oh," his breathing intensified, "no, no, of course not. You must be safe." He turned a softened expression to Vito. "Thank you, dear man." His eyes returned to Caroline, as he continued speaking to Vito. "You must promise that you will not allow any of the beasts in this hostel to harm this precious girl."

"Count on dat."

_83_

"We just keep meeting up, don't we?" The policeman's suspicion showed on his face, unnerving two thirds of the table. "Seems every time there's a crime, I end up questioning you three."

Officer Norton tapped a chair, and Ted nodded. "Our names aren't on the chairs. Go ahead." The officer removed his hat, set it on the table, and sat down, leaving his continental cohort standing.

"So you're just gonna sit," Caroline said, "and leave Eliza Doolittle over here out in the cold?"

"Officer Pygmalion's fine," his partner insisted.

They all watched the French man's face turn beat red, as he spoke under his breath, "You are mispronouncing it."

Officer Norton continued, ignoring the French lesson. "Pygmalion's been sitting in a squad car all day. Aintcha, Pig?"

Caroline laughed. "No frigging way! You did not just call your cop partner 'pig'?"

Again, the officer ignored. "Besides, Pig's gonna go talk to that sexy little thing up at the bar. See what she knows about all this."

"That sexy little thing at the bar has a name," Ted curtly informed. "It's Dahlia Ratt."

"Pardone?" Officer Pygmallon said.

Officer Norton shoved his partner's shoulder and let out a belly laugh. "No frigging way! You did not just call her 'rat'?!"

"It's her last name," Caroline schooled. "Spelled with two Ts."

"Mm-hmm-hmm-hmmmmm. Zat is, 'ow do you say, 'il-air-ee-ooz."

"I wouldn't laugh, if I were you, Eliza Doo-"

Ted bumped Caroline's arm to shut her up, but missed, knocking his root beer into Officer Norton's hat.

"What the hell?!" the officer shrieked.

Ted picked up the hat. "I am so sorry! Here, let me-"

"Don't touch it!" the policeman shouted. "Pig, go talk to the hot Ms. Ratt over there, and come back here and fill me in." He picked up his hat and flung it into the air, dumping root beer onto the bar's carpet.

"Hey!" Ted objected. "Somebody's gotta clean that up!"

As a busboy dashed to mop up the mess, Officer Norton interrogated, "And what do you know, Mr. Morrison, about cleaning things up?"

"What does that mean?" Ted asked. He pictured his hands in cuffs and looked at his wife for comfort. Recognizing fear in her husband's eyes, she reached under the table and clasped his hand.

"Well," Officer Norton returned, "like I said, just seems a little odd that, every time there's a homicide, I end up talking to you three."

"Homicide?!" Vito shrieked. "My goodness, who was moidered?"

"Wait." Caroline interjected. "I thought you and Officer Pig over there were investigating a missing persons case?"

"The mysterious disappearance of the Thakkars? We're still working that case, ma'am."

"Woooo," Caroline smartassed, "the mysterious disappearance of the Thakkars. Sounds like a mystery novel." Ted bumped Caroline's arm again, not missing this time. "Ow!"

"Bugguh!"

All heads turned in the direction of the bar, as Officer Pygmallon, out of breath and hair mussed, ran toward them. "She don't know nuffin', guvnah!" he squealed. He stopped, puffed out a bunch of breaths, and squeezed a chair in at the table. After huffing for another few seconds, the recently hitched officer pulled out a comb and began removing all traces of relentless-seductress Dahlia Ratt from his person.

Officer Norton slapped his partner's back and laughed obnoxiously. "What happened to you, Pig? You look like she damn near had her way with ya!"

Ted asserted, "That's," his eyes smiled at Caroline and Vito, "that's our Dahlia. You shouldn't-a tossed him to the wolves like that."

"Ahh, he's fine," the senior officer replied. "'Sides, it's prolly the most action he's seen, now that he's an old married man, huh, Pig?" He motioned for the rookie to button his top buttons. "Let's get back to it, shall we? In answer to your question, Mrs. Morrison, we're still working that missing persons case, but now we've got a murder on our hands." He removed his glasses and wiped them with a bar napkin. "And it's just awfully hinky that we keep coming back to you all."

Caroline said, "So why do you keep coming back to us all? This town has about a thousand people living in it."

"999 now, ma'am," the officer quipped. He reached into his breast pocket and held up the photo of the lifeless rapist. "Do you know this man?"

Vito glanced around to Ted and Caroline and, feigning ignorance, said, "Um, what's dat around his neck?"

"That's his C-PAP machine, Mr. Socrates. Helps him breathe."

"Aint too effective, is it?" Vito retorted.

Caroline slapped Vito's arm, and they both broke into laughter. The others at the table shot the giggling partners in crime a collective severe glare, and they quieted their snickering. Officer Norton continued, "The victim's name is, uh, was Warren Francis Cassius, known to his friends as 'Cash.'" He waited to see familiarity on their faces. "I would think you all would know him. After all, his wife, Elizabeth Daisy Cassius, works at your establishment."

"Daisy!" Vito blurted, "Dat's sweet."

Still trying to place the face, Ted looked at the officer and said, "Are you sure we haven't met? You just look so familiar."

Caroline joked, "Maybe you've just … grown accustomed to his face."

All Broadway musical fans, Caroline, Ted, and even Vito laughed, but the joke got no response from the law. Ted said, "I've grown accustomed to her face? It's a song from the movie 'My Fair Lady.' You know, 'Pygmalion'?! Oh, come on, surely you know it, Officer Pig … Puh-mal-yoh?"

Officer Norton said, "Any reason you three are always trying to sidestep our questions?" He stared at Ted. "If you recognize me, Mr. Morrison, perhaps you're recollecting one of your many visits to the precinct to meet with your parole officer?" Ted's face lost all color. "Yes, Mr. Morrison," the officer flipped through his little notebook, "Mr. Theodore Jefferson Morrison the Third. After I questioned you last time, I did some digging. Found something very intriguing about your, uh, previous address. You're a felon on parole, are you not?"

"What's that got to do with-"

"What does the fact that you murdered a man have to do with an investigation into the murder of your employee's husband, not to mention the case of two missing persons who were last seen on the day your establishment was to cater a party for them? Little too co-inky-dental, dontcha think?"

Caroline clasped Ted's hand tighter. "We didn't know Mr. Cassius, officer. We don't dig into the personal lives of our employees. And we told you before-"

"One small cheese hot peppers, one appetizer platter, and one large everything." The caterers were thrilled at Riley's announcement of their order.

"Oh, thank God!" Vito exhaled. He felt law enforcement's judgmental eyes on him. "Uh, I aint had nuttin' since breakfast. I'm stahvin.'"

Caroline reached across Officer Norton and pulled her small pizza close, knocking his arm in the process. He glared at her, and she glared back. "Will there be anything else, Professor Higgins?" She seized the biggest pizza slice, scrunched it together, and shoved it in her mouth, simultaneously chewing and grinning.

Officer Norton stood. "Just don't leave town, any-a you."

Ted pushed his appetizers around with a fork, mumbling, "I'm a felon on parole, remember? Where the hell am I going?"

_84_

"I told you guys we shoulda cleared da body outta dere."

"There was no time, Vito," Caroline reminded. "He was trying to kill us, remember?"

Vito shook his head. "We shoulda gone back. We shouldn't-a left no evidence, I told yous."

"Evidence?" Caroline said, touching his shoulder. "Sweet Veet, how many times do I have to say it?" She lowered her voice and leaned in close to the men. "We didn't do anything!"

The Harvard man corrected. "Well, technically, we did. It's called felony murder." His confounded companions stared blankly. "It means there's no such thing as an accidental death in the commission of a crime." Their confusion did not relent. "Do I have to explain everything to you two? If we hadn't bro … oh hell," he lowered his head, peered around for eavesdroppers, and whispered, "if we hadn't broken in, Warren wouldn't have died."

Now his wife corrected. "Except that we didn't break in. Betsy opened the door for us. Baby, she walked us right up to his bedroom, remember?"

"Maybe so, but if too-tight-undies over here hadn't pulled out that biggie-sized wedgie-"

"I told yous guys I hadda go back and change 'em, but no, yous-"

"Stop it. Both of you," Caroline demanded. "It's over now, and there's nothing we can do about it. Now, let's just eat and enjoy ourselves." As Ted wondered how the woman he loved could be so nonchalant about yet another dead body in their wake, his wife shoved the rest of slice one in her mouth and washed it down with root beer. When she could speak without spitting pizza, she added, "I know that look, Ted. You didn't kill him. In fact, you were the one who tried to help him. Your conscience should be clear."

"Hey yeah!" Vito added. "Dat's right!" After scarfing an entire slice of large-with-everything in one mouthful and chasing it with an entire mug of beer in one guzzle, he thought for a moment. He clunked the mug down on the table, swiped a backhand over his mouth, and said, "You was helping him, and he shot at yous. Talk about ungrateful."

_85_

"Take this swill back. And don't come back until your sommelier has figured out the difference between fine wine and swamp root." Without looking at the server, Peg pointed on the menu to a '94 Chateau Latour and waved him away. "That's all." Jerry's uncharacteristic grimace at her insolence hawked her off. "Oh, like you wouldn't have said the same-"

"That?" Jerry choked up a piece of bread. "You seriously don't think I give a damn how you talk to the help?"

"What then?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you just ordered a thousand-dollar bottle of wine … at lunch!"

Peg scanned the café' for big eyes and bigger ears. "Would you keep your voice down, please? I have a reputation in this town."

Jerry lowered his voice, but not because of Peg's illustrious reputation. "Look, I told you we can't go spending frivolously anymore. Hell, our investors-"

"I don't give a damn about the investors, and you shouldn't either." She shook her head and sucked her teeth. "If our investors can't afford to lose a little money here and there, then they shouldn't be taking the risk, now should they?" She studied the menu. "I'm very disappointed in the lack of creativity in the aliment. I thought you said this place was gourmet?"

"Peg," Jerry's teeth gritted his words to near silence, "I chose this place because it's dark and out of the way." He looked around for more seclusion. "I don't know why you told the host to seat us over here. I told you I wanted to sit in the back room. Come on, let's-"

"Don't even think about it. I refuse to hide myself away."

"I told you we have to keep a low profile for a while."

"Forget it. Low profiles are for losers." She thawed her anger a bit and reached out for his hand. "Oh, Batman, you and I, we're one of the premier couples in this town. We have a duty to see and be seen. We simply cannot," she quoted air, "keep a low profile."

Jerry allowed a pinch of fondness to release. He clasped both his hands in both of hers and whispered, "C.W., you heard Dickson and Darnell. They aren't going to let this go."

Peg pushed his sweaty hands away. She wiped each finger separately on her napkin, then reached again for the menu. "Cowardice does not become you, Mr. Dougherty. Besides, those idiots are in jail." She snapped for servants. "So what are you worried about?"

"Peg, we've got 20 investors, and they're all looking for their money."

"Shut up." The server arrived at the table with a new bottle, and Peg motioned further preferences at the menu.

When the young man looked across the table to the other customer, Jerry waived him away. "Nothing for me."

"Oh, for goodness sake. I thought we were going to have a nice lunch, Gerald." Peg tapped her fingers on the table and huffed. "Just what exactly do you think any of those goons can do to us, especially now that their two goon leaders are in jail … for rape, no less? They know now that they had better not mess with us. Oh, don't you see, Batman-"

Superhero music rang from Jerry's pants. He fumbled his hands under the table, retrieved his phone, and struck buttons. "Yeah, what?"

"I am sick of this!" resounded from the phone's speaker.

Jerry hit the angry voice back into silence and held the phone to his ear. "What do you want, T.R.?"

Tommy Ray's anger could still be heard, even after the speaker had been toggled off. "All day long! All GD day long, your irate investors are coming here, pestering me!" He mimicked angry financiers. "'Where is he?' 'Where the hell are they?' 'Where's my money?' I tell you, Gerald O., I have had it! You hear me?! Had it! I am gone!"

"Then go!" Jerry shouted.

Peg scowled at his inability to keep his staff in line, then peered around the restaurant at glaring eyes. She slapped on a huge smile and let out an awkward giggle. "Bit of an emergency, folks. Apologies." She dug her heel into her lover's foot under the table, injuring him into obedience. She could still hear Tommy Ray's wrath at her fiancé's ear. "Just hang up on that hillbilly."

Jerry threw her an irritated wave, then turned it into a sugary smile. He continued the phone call, ducking his head low to the table. "Look, Russell-"

"No, you look! I have had to appease four of your duped dummies already today, and another one just walked in that door! I am tired of having alla their anger directed at me! I mean it, when you get back, I will be gone. Do you get it? Do you hear me, Gerald Oliver?! G … O … N-"

"Fine, hillbilly! I don't give a damn!" Jerry whispered loudly. "I'm sick to death of you anyway. Peg's right. We'd be better off without you!"

Silence reverberated from the other end of the phone. "Fine. Then I guess I'm gone. Oh, and that other investor who's here now? I'll make sure I tell him exactly where you two charlatans are."

"Fine! I don't give a damn!"

As Tommy Ray spoke it, Jerry's face went pale. "You can find Jerry and Peg at the bistro on the corner of Tenth and Main, just outside town. They're looking forward to speaking with you, Mr. Dickson."

_86_

Dahlia closed out the register and poured herself her third beer of the night. "See ya tomorrow, luv."

"I'm not here this weekend, D," Riley reminded. "But I'll see ya Monday. You have a good weekend, hon."

"You know I always do!" Dahlia winked. She reached under the bar for the remote control and turned on the telly.

"Ding ding!" Benno Socrates shouted from the kitchen. "Fish and chips for da most gorgeous gal in town. Get 'em while dey're hot."

"Oh, Bennie, me luv, what would I do wivout ya?" Dahlia stuck her head through the open divider and accepted the hot plate from her coworker. "All righty, then, luv. You're going out that way, right? 'Cause I'm gonna shut this window now, 'kay? I'll see ya tomorrow, sweetie."

"I'm just gonna clean da stove, and den I'm gone, gorgeous Doll," he informed.

They exchanged blown kisses as Dahlia rolled down the partition and clicked it shut at the bottom. She carried her beer and food back to her best friends, who were still sitting at their favorite table. "Ya know," she whispered, sitting in one chair and kicking her feet up on another, "I love me some Riley and Bennie, but I'm glad they're gone. I been dying all night to talk about it; how's Betsy doin' since … you know?"

"Surprisingly well," Vito said.

"Yeah," Caroline observed. "Guess there's something about not being choked and raped every night that—sorry, Veet." She rubbed her hand on his shoulder. "She's been staying with us."

Ted added, "She'll probably be with us for a little while. We don't want her to be alone."

"A-course not," Dahlia said. "She's a sweetie, that one." She winked at Vito. "Don't wait too long, luv, to make your move."

Ted chuckled. "You are so funny, D. Sweetheart, you'd make your move on a widower at his wife's funeral, wouldn't you?"

"Mmmm … depends."

"On?"

"On how dishy that widower is!"

Caroline shook her head. "God love ya, Dolly, you know how to have a good time."

A familiar voice from the television suddenly captured Caroline's attention. "Investigators unravel a crime in two cities. A crime of betrayal, lust, and greed."

As these were her most trusted allies, there wasn't a person at the table who didn't know Caroline's tragic story, or her suspicions of Jerry's involvement in her mother's death. Every one of them recognized the expression that overtook her face. It was Caroline's dormant inner gears begun grinding once again.

Ted felt an ache deep inside as his lungs pulled in a solemn breath. "Forensic Files. God help me. What are you thinking, Beautiful?" Seeing the tears running down her cheeks, he rushed to kneel by her side, handkerchief at the ready. He patted it on her face and whispered into her ear, "I miss you, my love."

She stretched her arms around his body and set her head on his shoulder. "I love you so much, Romeo."

"Yous two," Vito said. "I love seeing yous all in love and stuff." He, too, began crying, and Caroline sighed. "Don't yous worry 'bout me, Carr. Dese is tears-a joy."

Caroline sniffled and gently tugged the hankie from her husband. She wiped it all over her face, clutched it close, and set her head back down on his strong shoulder. "Baby, all this stuff with … your son and the Thakkars and Betsy, well, it's kind of made me put my stuff, you know, with my mom, on the back burner. Please understand, Rome. I have to know."

Vito said, "Whatever help yous need, Carr, count on me."

"Count me in too, luv."

Ted rested his head over his wife's. He closed his moist eyes and thought how deeply he'd missed their cherished moments alone together, since all the mayhem had begun. He kissed her hand over and over. "Whatever you need, Beautiful."

_87_

"Ridiculous."

"What do you mean, ridiculous?"

Peg rolled her eyes at her groom's weakness. "I mean that rube's got you believing his b.s. once again. He says it, and you believe it. It's quite nauseating, really, considering you're supposed to be the boss. And, honestly, Jerry, I hope that hick really is gone by the time we get back." She thoughtfully chose a fork and nibbled.

Jerry whispered, "Peg, we have got to get out of here now. I mean it."

"Jerry!" She bent forward and lowered her voice. "Must I remind you? Those two bastards are in jail for rape, remember?" She tasted the new wine and grimaced.

"Peg!" Unable to get his voice any lower, he cloaked his face in menus. "Must I remind you? They didn't rape you! We made it all up, remember?!"

Peg's neck bounced like a mean girl's. She tossed down her napkin and huffed, "Ridiculous."

"What the hell are you talking about? What's ridiculous?!"

"All of it! Tommy Ray's spinning his yokel yarns again, and he's got you believing every hayseed word. Cary Dickson cannot possibly be at the club. That man and his whiny sidekick are in jail! How the hell can they be in two places at once?!" She swirled her glass of thousand-dollar swamp root and sniffed its bouquet. "I swear, sometimes you really are an idiot. Makes me wonder why I ever agreed to marry you."

"So don't!"

"Oh no. No, no, no." She swallowed the root whole and slapped the glass on the table. "I have invested way too much in this relationship, and I'll be damned if I'm giving it up now. You're not getting off that easy, Gerald Dougherty."

"Peg, I'm telling you, we have got to get out of here! Dickson's coming for us! And probably Darnell, too. And God knows who else!"

"Jail, Jerry! J … A … I … L!"

"Bail, Peg! B … A … I … L! Or haven't you ever heard of criminals posting bond to get out of jail until their damned trial?"

From the look on her face, it wasn't something she'd considered. She stared at the bottle, fondling its thousand-dollar-ness. "I … I … still don't believe a word that idiot says. And … and … I … I … no, I won't do it. Now, I have ordered a gourmet lunch, and dammit, I shall have it." She picked up the bottle and momentarily thought about old Peg's fondness for chugging cheap wines straight out of the jug. She glanced about the café and instead poured in a manner a well-bred lady such as herself should. "You can go ahead and be a coward if you want, but I am staying put."

"Cat Woman, please. Let's get out of here."

"And then what? Hmm? What after that, Jerry? They know where we live."

"We can go anywhere. Anywhere! We've still got a lot of money left. Argentina, Venezuela. Anywhere they don't extradite."

"Extradite?! For what?! What are you talking about? We haven't done anything!"

"Haven't … hav … do you hear yourself? Margaret Alyssa, think about the things you and I have done over the past two years. Think back, my darling Cat Woman."

"I never look back on the past. Never." She summoned her most cultured demeanor, sipping frantically until the glass was dry. "It serves absolutely no purpose. And I refuse to feel guilty. I deserve to live the good life. Deserve it. You can be a little-girl cowardly bitch if you like, but I refuse to run." She poured and sipped some more.

"I am not a coward! I just don't want all this to kill me! Being beaten to death by irate investors is not my idea of living the good life! Do you get what I am saying? Look, I'm done talking about this. I'm going with or without you, but-"

"Wait a minute. Just who are you running from, anyway? Them or me?"

His voice was barely audible. "Maybe both."

"I heard that, Gerald Oliver Dougherty!" Peg took a quick gulp straight from the bottle. "No. No way, you jellyfish. No, no, no. Huh-uh. You and I are getting married. Do you get what I am saying to you? I am planning our engagement party, and it is going to be the event of the season, do you hear me?" She kept gulping until the entire swamp was emptied. "I swear, Gerald Oliver, as God is my witness, all of this is going forward, even if it kills you."

_88_

To children of the '70s and '80s, it's the manifest sponsor of romance—that breathy crackle of a vinyl album whispering just beneath the sounds of love. As their song throbbed, Ted was the first to reach out his hand. Caroline knew he wanted it that way. She sensed he needed it tonight, to take the lead. It was the only place, the only way she would ever allow anyone to fully lead her. And he was the only man she had ever trusted enough to give such a bounteous gift.

He glided his fingertips up her arms, over her soft naked shoulders. His hands moved excitedly up her long silky neck, stopping at her temples. He moved his body in closer and, slowly, delicately, blew the hair from her eyes. She could feel his warm breaths floating up one side of her face, across her forehead, down the other. He pulled her glistening body even closer, feeling it yield a little more with each new contact to his.

Ted's baritones eased every stress in Caroline's body, thawing all that had become frozen lately. His potent touches flowed a river inside her, as he breathed his favorite song to her ear. "You always fill my heart with wonder. You always fill my soul with love."

As her tongue caressed her husband's skin, she was silent but for the heightening moans of passion. It was passion they hadn't engaged in for quite some time. She smoothed her face in the nape of his neck, rubbing her softness over his roughness, surrendering all to his forcefulness. It was what she needed tonight too. For, even the mightiest of lionesses can't be strong every moment.

With each step of their dance, Ted guided their ever-consummating body closer to the heart of their intimacy, gently stripping her of all that impeded his complete enjoyment of her. At last to the bed, Caroline lay back. As he joined his wife, Ted gratefully settled his body as her covering, and she requited.

_89_

Their love once again whetted, Ted's whispers accompanied the record, "You always fill my lips with kisses. You always fill my eyes-"

She could feel his body shake. "Rome, baby, what is it?"

"Please don't, Beautiful."

"Don't what, my love?"

"Fill my eyes with tears."

_90_

"I don't know why we didn't just go yank those criminals out of that restaurant and beat the hell outta both of 'em." Hector Darnell repeatedly pounded his tightened fist onto the long, elegant table.

"And what?" Cary Dickson halted his pacing and sat. "End up right back in the brig?" He scanned the other suckered investors, not one of whom had skipped the emergency meeting. "No, I've got something better planned for those two pirates."

Swindled-investor Lehman Frost was a well-known mild-mannered businessman. But, steal his money and the beast emerged. "Yes, I have one as well. I'm guessing my plan is pretty much the same as yours."

Darnell's ears were hot. "Spill it."

Frost leaned into the polished mahogany table, closer to his fellow pigeons. "The way I see it, our entrepreneurs? Well, they just cannot seem to get enough blow, now can

they?" It was a fact that had rendered every shaking head in the room tens of thousands poorer. "So I say, we give those two thieves a wedding gift that'll blow their minds."

_91_

"Did you find anything?"

It was something Caroline and Vito usually did, the biweekly shopping run for Served Cold supplies. However, knowing his wife couldn't wait, Ted had offered to step in so she and caper-companion Vito could begin their investigation immediately.

Awaiting an answer to his question, Ted placed the first load of bags on the table and prepared to go back out to the car for the second. "_Guess they didn't hear me."_ Noting papers and boxes strewn everywhere, he decided not to interrupt. About to turn back for more bags, he heard the familiar sound of his wife's laments. "What? Caroline, what is it?"

"Bad day," Vito answered for his best friend, Carr.

Ted ran to her side. He felt his back pocket for his handkerchief, but saw two empty boxes of tissues on the table and another half-full box clutched tightly in his wife's hands. "Beautiful?" No room on the floor with Caroline, Vito, and the mounds of potential evidence, he gently lifted her head off the couch, sat, and rested it back down in his lap. He looked down into her sober eyes, softly stroking her neck and cheeks. He patted his lips to her forehead. "Tell me." Caroline secured her deadened stare into his eyes. She had no words.

Vito spoke for his pal. "You aint gonna believe it."

"So … he … did it then? Jerry … killed her?"

"Like I said, you won't believe it."

"You mean, you found evidence, Vito? There's evidence in all this that he murdered Caroline's mother?"

Vito looked at the piles. Off by itself sat a man's shaving kit. He retrieved it and handed it to Ted.

"Whose is it?" Ted inquired. He turned back to his wife. "Is it Jerry's?" She confirmed.

"Carr figgered she picked it up dat last day she was dere. She said she-"

"I'm all right, Veet." After a number of heavy breaths, Caroline told it. "That last day, when I found him and … Peg together, well, it was pretty upsetting. I don't know. I guess, even though we were getting a divorce, I just, I had no idea. They were lying there, in my bed … naked. I just wanted to get outta there. I swept everything off the dresser into my suitcase. I must have gotten his shaving kit along with all my stuff."

Ted unzipped the shaving kit. Seeing nothing but a curious mass of white and green, he opened it the rest of the way. As he tugged on a huge wad of cash, with it spilled out dozens of small plastic bags filled with a powdery white substance. "Hmph. So that's what he was spending all your money on. Well, we've gotta get rid-"

Vito stopped him, "Dat aint de unbelievable part. Carr?"

Caroline closed her eyes and bit her lip. She whispered, "This was in the shaving kit." She handed over a dark gray cell phone and choked out, "The … texts. Scroll the texts." Ted reluctantly accepted the phone from his wife.

Vito said, "Here, hit dis. It's one a-dem new, state-a-de-art ones."

As he scrolled, Ted observed, "Hmph. Something else he was spending your mon-" His jaw dropped and his eyes instantly filled. "No."

"Yeah," Vito whispered.

Ted couldn't stop his mouth from pouting. He couldn't stop his eyes from pouring onto his cheeks. She was someone he had never known, but he felt the profound anguish, the fierce anger, just the same. "They didn't ... they couldn't ... Caroline, they texted-" He felt her arms clutch harder around his legs. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Rome," she said, "we found that phone not long after you left this morning. After I read those texts," she let out a heavy, clumsy chuckle, "poor Vito, I've been screaming and crying ever since." She reached one arm over to her pal and one up to her husband, clasping their hands securely. "You can say it."

Like driving by an accident, Ted's eyes were glued in shock to those texts. "I … don't think I can." He scrolled in a frenzy, reading and sobbing. "No, no, no." He stared down at the unthinkable words before him, wiping his eyes over and over as the relentless tears drenched his face. "He was texting Peg … the whole time he was … smothering her … with … with-"

Vito finished it, "Her own baby blanket."

_92_

"You're here."

"Baby, we missed you!" Caroline ran to her husband, who was now hours late for the Tuesday morning opening. She kissed him all over his face and held her arms tightly around his body. Ted's arms remained flat at his side. "Of course, baby. Where else would I be at this time?" She sniffed, stepped back to look him up and down, and guided him away from customers. "What happened to you?" she whispered. "You're a mess. Whoa, you didn't even shower."

Ted's confusion stopped him from whispering. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Why on Earth would you be looking anywhere for me on a Tuesday morning but here?"

"Seriously?! Oh, I don't know, Caroline. Maybe because you were-" he felt stares from customers and gently shoved his wife toward the hallway. He pushed his office door open and stood firmly until she walked inside. He slammed the door behind them and paced. "Where the hell were you? Where were you?! You disappeared last night after … I got home. You spent hours talking to Betsy." He stopped in front of her, eyes welling. "I wanted … I needed to … I thought you'd need me after … but you and she … oh hell, then you pulled out of the driveway at, like, midnight and-"

"One."

"What?"

"I left at one."

"Oh, pardon me. One. And you didn't come back. I asked Betsy where you were going, and she said she thought you … wait, where is Betsy, anyway?"

"Don't know."

"Anyway, she said she thought you were going out to get something and you'd be back in a few minutes. I waited up, but I was running errands for ten hours yesterday and I just felt-"

"Yes, and thank you for that, baby."

"I'm not looking for thank yous, Caroline. It's part of my job, as the manager of this shop and as your husband. What I was going to say was, I tried staying up and waiting for you 'cause I thought you'd only be gone for a few minutes, but I guess I was so tired I just fell asleep. But when I woke up this morning, you were gone. But the funny thing was, there was no coffee made or anything, like you usually do when you leave before me. Nothing was the way it usually is. And I knew. I knew you hadn't come home last night. So I went up to ask Betsy, but she was gone, too. And she doesn't even have any appointments 'til this afternoon. So I just threw on some shoes and went looking for you. Caroline, just what were you doing all night?"

"Just drove around," she shrugged.

"Just drove around? You just drove around? At one a.m.? After the day you had yesterday? Caroline, how could you do this to me? I was worried out of my head about you. I was so afraid that after … what you found out yesterday … I was so afraid you would do-"

"Baby, baby, I'm fine. Like you said, I just couldn't sleep, so I went out for a drive. No biggie." She smiled, picked up one of Vito's freshly made crullers, and shoved the whole thing in her mouth at once. Ted stood, stupefied, as he watched his wife chew the gigantic doughnut, make an animated gulp sound, and swipe on a huge grin. He leaned in and sniffed her breath. "No, baby. I haven't had anything to drink."

"Wait a minute. No, Caroline, no. Where's-" he conducted a search.

"Where's what?"

"Where's that … shaving kit?"

"Oh, baby. You don't think I'd … give me a little credit, will you?" She laughed. "I'm a drunk, not a coke addict."

"Then why are you so … so-"

"So what?"

"So happy?!"

"What should I be, Ted? Hmm? Should I be crying? What, I haven't spent enough damn time in my life crying? I spent months in a deep depression after Gracie died. You want me to cry some more?!"

"Of course-"

"I spent 10 hours yesterday after reading those … texts, screaming and throwing things around the room. Did you see that place? I cried my damned heart out on Vito's shoulder for hours. You think I should cry even more?" Ted couldn't get a word in. "Hell, I've spent my entire pathetic life crying, and on my own damned shoulder! And you just want me to cry-"

"No! Of course I don't want that! You know I don't ever want you see you sad." He pulled her close and held her tight. "Beautiful," he whispered, "my beautiful love, I don't ever want you to cry. I just thought … when you didn't come home … I was worried. I was so afraid. I went looking everywhere for your truck."

"Why didn't you come here, Ted?"

"I don't know. I guess it was the last place I thought you'd be. Before, you know, when you've … gone off … off-"

"Off the wagon?" she chuckled.

"Yes, off the wagon, the shop was the last place you wanted to be. I looked anywhere else I thought you might be. I went to the Rusty Nail. Then I went to Vito's. I went to that park you love so much. I even went to Bennie's thinking maybe you were looking for Veet if he wasn't home. Then I remembered what I did after Chip … when I drove to the Thakkars. So I drove halfway to Jerry's thinking you might have-" Ted recognized that wry smile when he saw it.

"Might have what, baby?"

"Wait. Where is Betsy, anyway? You and she were up for hours talking last night. What were you two talking about? And why isn't she here now?"

"I'm surprised you'd ask that, Rome. It was your idea to switch Betsy into more of a sales role. Give her a promotion so she'd make more money. I'm pretty sure she's out drumming up business."

"Caroline, she didn't have any appointments this morning. I run this place. I know every dollar that comes in and goes out. I know every grain of sugar that's bought. And I know everybody's schedule, every single appointment. And Betsy didn't have any appointments until," he lifted a clipboard from a wall bin, "she's got a one p.m., a 3:30, and a six. In fact, I was thinking how nice it would be for her to sleep a little later today. So where is she, Caroline, where?" His wife had no answer. She simply straightened her apron and smiled. Ted dashed to the computer. "Wait a minute. Those … those emails from-"

"From where?"

"Not from where, Caroline! From who!"

"Baby, you're a Harvard graduate. From whom."

"Stop it! You know exactly what I'm talking about! Those emails from Peg's, what's her name, the party planner who's planning-"

"Event planner. Piper Ness."

"Yes! That's it. Piper Ness. You told me to … Caroline! You told me to delete those emails!"

"Oh, did I?"

"You told me there was no way you were going to cater their engagement party. So why are they back?"

"Back where, baby?"

"Right here! Those emails from Piper Ness, they're right there in the-"

"Oh that. I just did a little click click, and, well, there they are."

"Just a little click … just … and Betsy?! Where is she, Caroline?! Where?!"

"You already know the answer, Ted. Yes, that's what we were up late last night talking about. But, to tell you the truth, I actually hadn't decided on a solution until I drove halfway back to Jerry's myself. I too thought of the night you drove to the Thakkars and sat there all night with your gun. But then I decided to just, oh, let nature take its course, shall we say?" She giggled. "After all, I don't have a gun." Ted shook his head and shut his eyes, as though closing them would keep him from hearing the rest. "No, I decided to just send Betsy out there this morning to get their engagement party."

Ted released a monstrous growl that roared beyond the office walls, out the hallway, and blasted into the outer shop. Gritting his teeth and compressing his knuckles down to half their normal size, he revolved his body around in the opposite direction of his wife, let out another gut-wrenching wail, and pummeled his fist straight through the same wall they'd just re-plastered from Vito's steel-table mishap.

Caroline stepped to the drywall. Peering through, she saw Vito's astonished face staring back at her from the other side. She looked at her furious husband, then back at the hole in the wall and said, "That's what I thought you'd say."

_93_

When the waters are pouring in around you, should you bail, or should you swim? Ted had been dissecting his beat-em-or-join'-em dilemma for days. There was no talking Caroline out of the engagement party; that much was clear. But now she'd even decided the party, and whatever she had planned for it, wasn't enough. Justice, she insisted, demanded more. Once again, Ted had desperately pleaded that they take their evidence straight to law enforcement. And damning evidence it was. A cell phone filled with incriminating texts that proved the wicked lengths her ex and his fiancée were willing to go to for money—a gun wouldn't leave much more smoke. But Caroline's long-unquenched appetite for vengeance was even more insatiable than Ted imagined.

"What now, Caroline? The party isn't enough? I hate to think about what you've got planned for that, but it just isn't enough, is it? Hell, we've got enough evidence to send them both to the electric chair. So, why are you-"

"I need to see him squirm."

"You want to see him squirm?! Go to the damned execution! It don't get no squirmier than that!"

"Execution?! Are you kidding? Those evil bastards'll probably live longer than you and me! Remember the Night Stalker? He was sentenced to death in, what, the '80s? Ted, he died in prison, like, 25 years later! You of all people should know nobody gets executed anymore. Didn't you say there was a death row in the prison you were in? Just how many executions did they do when you were-"

"Why, Caroline? Why do you always have to bring up my prison time? Can't we just let the past be the past? Can't we just live for now and think about the future? Our future?"

"Baby, baby, you know I love you, but-"

"Who's the talk radio host who says 'everything before but is b.s.'?"

Caroline stood at the window waiting for Vito's Chevelle to pull up. "I suppose I should say 'touché,' but you won't get it out of me."

"Of course not. Caroline Barker couldn't possibly admit when she's wrong."

"Oh, so now I'm Caroline Barker? Not Caroline Morrison, or even Caroline Barker Morrison? Why not just call me Caroline Dougherty?"

"Beautiful, you will always be Caroline Morrison to me. I love you deeply, you know that. And that's why I'm fighting you on this. I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you. Caroline, I can't take losing anyone else. I can't-"

"Vito's here."

"Son of a—just what do you two have planned now?!"

"Do you really want to know? Really?"

"Yes, I really want to know. No, that's not true. I don't want to know. I need to know."

"We're driving down to my old house."

"What? Wait. You mean the house where Jerry and Peg live now? You're going down there tonight?"

"Yep."

"Caroline, no! Please no, my love. What on Earth are you going to do there?"

"Would you believe … search for evid-"

"Don't!" Calm and numb now, Ted stood, breathed in for courage, looked up for answers. Finally, he murmured, "I don't know what else to say but please don't."

"You do know, don't you, Ted, that there's no point in wasting your breath?"

He slumped down into his wife's favorite chair. "Caroline, up to now, it's all been self defense and accidents. And it's always been … the … the-"

"The what?"

"The other guys. I'm afraid something's going to happen to you. I just have a bad feeling."

She pounded her fist into the door so hard, the thump startled Ted. "Yes, Ted, and I have a bad feeling, too. I have a bad feeling about my ex and his girlfriend getting away with murdering my baby!" It was the first time she'd said it aloud_. "They murdered my baby." _She dropped her head against the wall. She felt the tears coming, the deep-down empty ache.

"_No_," she thought. That locomotive was not coming for her this time. She immediately picked up her head, straightened her neck, and peered to the sky. "I can't cry anymore. It's time for action. I'm doing this. If you love me, you'll help."

"You did not just say that." Ted walked to his wife and clasped his arms around her from behind. He set his chin on her shoulder and whispered, "Please. Please. No more. I love you."

She leaned her head back and touched her cheek to his. She clasped his hands to her heart. "I have never loved another man as much as I love you, Ted Morrison." She twisted her neck and kissed him with a despairing, mournful passion. "But he murdered my baby. His baby. I can't let him get away with that. I have no choice, I have to do something."

"Yes, and that's why we take the cell phone to the-"

"Oh, come on! You've seen how defense lawyers work. You know they'll come up with some garbage about … about … me manipulating those texts or fabricating them. You know he'll get off!"

"Caroline, no, no. There's a good chance-"

"And there it is! That's why I have to do something … chance. I can't take the chance that those two psychopaths will get away with it. You know the courts these days. Hell, they're all about the rights of the perps and none-"

"Listen to yourself! The 'perps'! Caroline, you've been watching way too many crime documentaries. You-"

"Ted! I have to do something! Just like you had to do something when Trudy-"

"Yes! Dammit, Caroline! That's exactly what I've been saying for months! Look how that ended! Caroline, this isn't the Equalizer. It's not Death Wish or Sweeney Todd or the Boondock Saints, or any of the other vigilante movies you love so much. It's real life."

"And you know what else is real life, Ted? Living with the knowledge that your ex-husband, the father of your baby, the man you chose to have a child with, murdered that child, his very own child, for money." She peered out the curtains and motioned for Vito to wait. "You will never get it."

"No. I get it, Caroline. You're the one who doesn't. You're a victim, and you don't want to be. But you seem to think there's only victim and," he quoted, "'perp.' But you don't have to be a victim. You and I, we can live a beautiful life together, a life where you don't feel like a victim anymore." Vito honked his horn. "But you walk out that door, and depending on what happens tonight, sure, you could cease being a victim, but not in the way you want. You could end up taking victims of your own. Caroline, this isn't a movie. It doesn't end with … with … Edward what's-his-name moving on to another case or … or … Charles Bronson leaving town by sundown. Beautiful, please, listen to me. We have a chance for a future, a wonderful life together. But we cannot build a life with so much anger and hatred-"

"And you know what else is real life, Ted?" Caroline wasn't shouting anymore. "All the child molesters and rapists and murderers who leave scores of victims and devastation in their wake, and they never pay for it. Jack the Ripper. The Zodiac Killer. Orenthal James Simpson." Vito honked once more, and Caroline opened the door.

"And Caroline Barker Morrison?"

"Maybe so."

Caroline stepped out the door and slammed it behind her. She ran to the Chevelle and took her usual seat shotgun to Vito. As she buckled herself in, another slamming door turned both their heads in the direction of the house.

Running toward them wrestling with his jacket was Ted. He knocked on the window, opened the door, and climbed in the back seat. "You weren't gonna leave without me, were you?"

_94_

"He better not have run off and left me here alone, that lily-livered bastard. I'll kill him myself." Most of Peg's phone conversations with Piper these days were spent laughing at her fiancé, the object of her undying love and devotion. "He's cutting it close, but he'll be home before the engagement party Saturday. And he better be here or I'll-"

"I know, I know," Piper's high voice squeaked through the speaker, "you'll kill him yourself. What was that noise?"

"It's just the cat, I'm sure."

"Oh. I thought maybe Jerry was home."

"Naah. He's out schmoozing more investors. Sides, he'd never leave that stupid cat."

"I know what you mean. Ford and that damned dog … you'd think he married her insteada me. Whoa! I heard that noise, too! Peg-"

"I told you, Pipe. It's just the cat. I hate that damned cat. I might be putting that thing down at the same time I put down its idiot owner."

"Ahh, don't say that. If you kill Jerry, I'll take his cat. I love little kitties."

"Oh, I was just kidding. Maybe!"

"Well, just don't hurt the kitty. I'll take him. Hey, think of it this way, the cat don't got no stinking life insurance!"

"I like the way you think, sista! Oh, you know what, I am so tired. I think I'm going to go relax, soak in a hot bubble bath with a fine wine and some caviar. I have an Abreu that's to die for. And, hey, I deserve it. I've been working so hard on this party, I cannot think straight. Oh, my life, it's so difficult. People just don't understand the responsibility of being among the gentility, you know, Pipe?"

"They never do. They honestly think our lives are all parties and glamour. But they don't see all the behind-the-scenes hell we go through, girlfriend. The fundraisers. The obligations."

"And not to mention all the molding we have to do of our husbands. I swear, if I didn't slap his naked butt outta bed every day, my Jerry would just lie in bed all day playing-"

"Now I know I heard something! Peg, do you want me to call the police or something? I'm afraid of you being in that huge house by yourself."

"No, no. I'm telling you, it was just Greenback. I'll get him some milk or cat nip or … whatever the hell cats eat or drink, and he'll be down for the night. I'll get him in a couple minutes."

"Sounds good."

"So, we're all set for Saturday, then, right?"

"All set, sugar. I'm telling you, sis, you will be positively blown away."

"I'm counting on it, sista. Don't let me down." Peg didn't wait for Piper to say 'goodbye.' She just hit 'end' and tossed the phone to the sofa. She reached for the remote and clicked straight through to the adult section. "Oh, hell. I'll get the cat his food later. Damn thing won't starve." She snatched one of six bottles of cheap wine from the coffee table, unscrewed the cap, chugged, and backed her hand across her mouth. "Oh, yeah." She stood up, disrobed to her underwear, grabbed a bag of pork rinds, and plopped back down on the couch, lying back with one hand free. She shoveled snacks into her mouth and topped off the chewing with swigs of hooch. Between the cathartic moans that thundered from the coupling TV couple and her own titillated groans, she almost didn't hear the fourth voice in the room. The one that whispered in her ear.

"Dickson says hi."

"What the hell?!" Peg's naked, nearly climactic body bolted into the air.

She didn't notice how drop-dead gorgeous he was. She didn't notice how tall and built and hot he was. She didn't notice his steamy tan or his penetrating green eyes. She did notice the pistol pointed at her temple.

"Please! Please! Don't hurt me! I'll do anything you want!"

"Eh," the incredibly hot, well-built man holding his loaded gun cocked his head back and stared at her nakedness, "you don't have anything I want. But you do have something my bosses want. They hired me for this project, and by golly, I am going to do it. I have my scruples, after all." He leaned in closer to his undertaking. "You've been a bad little girl, haven't you, Ms. Margaret Alyssa Vitelli?"

"No. No," Peg squealed. "I'm a good girl, really I am."

The bad guy let out one single, jolting laugh. "No. Not you. You told a fib, didn't you, little girl? Yes, you did. And this," he tapped a slight shake of his gun, "is for your," his free hand quoted air, "rapists, lying little girl." He leaned in closer, jiggled his finger, and squealed, "Bang!"

Peg's head jerked back, as she released a curdling scream. No pain. No blood.

The gunman snapped his head and emitted a hysterical laugh. "Scared ya!" He stepped back, did a two-step, and wiggled at the hips.

With his attention diverted to his little dance, Peg jumped up and ran as far as her frightened legs would take her. Hearing his clickety boots gunning for her, she slipped behind the bar and shivered. His taunting whistle reminisced of bad slasher flicks.

"Fibbing little girl, where are you?" He let out slow, loud laughter. "Now, if this were a horror movie and I were playing the murderer, right about now I'd say, 'Olly olly oxen free'!" He walked about the huge great room, snapping his boot heels as loudly as he could. "Bad girl, where are- oh there you are!" His fetching physique towered over her, as she knelt like a little-girl cowardly bitch behind the counter. He stood still for several moments, silent for several more. The silence was killing Peg. "And this!" he suddenly lurched, leaning into his target, "this is for bilking your trusting investors." He pointed the gun at her underwear. "Bang bang!"

Peg's recently writhing-in-ecstasy body was now writhing in pain, bloodying her high-priced granite tiles. She screamed in agony at the excruciating wound.

He whispered, "And this one? Well, this one's just 'cause I always wanted to say-" As Peg lay contorting in tormented spasms, the gorgeous gunman assumed a TV-cop stance, yanked his head Peg-ward, Peg-away, then Peg-ward again. He pointed the gun straight to her head for the big finish.

"Bang bang bang!"

_95_

As the car crept up to the house, Ted was instantly transported to Betsy and Warren's and Dawna and Jackson's. He wondered how many more there'd be before they were past the point of no return. "_If we aren't there already."_

"Déjà vu."

"Shouldn't that be my line?" Caroline pointed out.

"Hey, yeah," Vito decided. "'Cause yous are da one dat used to live here."

"Never mind," Ted said.

Vito shut off the engine and sat. "Wow, dis was all yours, Carr?"

"Yes, Vito. Yes, it was."

"And you just give it all away to dat-"

"Don't remind me. Oh, hell, I don't give a damn about the house or even the restaurant."

"I know," Vito said. "You just want Baby Gra … yeah."

Ted shook his head. He didn't dare speak his thoughts, not these anyway. "_We could have a baby, you and me. We could have a beautiful life together, if you would onl_y-" Sobs interrupted Ted's thoughts. He thought sure it was his wife mourning her lost child. He was wrong.

"What's the matter, Sweet Veet?"

"Oh, Carr, I've had so much fun wit yous guys. Kinda like we belong to our own little club, ya know? I'm sure gonna miss dis."

Ted rolled his eyes. "Oh, brother."

"Leave 'im alone, baby. He's sensitive."

"Sensitive?!" Ted rebutted. "I … I have nothing to say. I'm speechless."

"Come on, guys," Caroline said. "Let's head up." She exited the car, leading the way to the side of the estate. She pulled a giant skeleton key from her coat pocket. "I hope they didn't change the-" Just touching the gate pushed it open. "Wow. They don't even keep it closed? That's weird."

"Yeah," Ted said. "They should know you're gonna break in looking for evidence."

"Shhh!" Caroline insisted. "Here, this way." She led them up a stone staircase that spiraled for days. She pushed through a second gate. "I don't get it. Why doesn't he keep these locked anymore?"

Ted whispered, "Just what are we looking for anyway? Especially since we've already got the texts?"

Caroline peered back to Vito, who tossed her a guilty glare. "So, you didn't tell 'im, huh, Carr?"

"Let me guess. You're gonna kill 'em, right?"

"Soitenly not," Vito answered. "We're just gonna tie 'em up and force 'em to tell us everything, you know, into our recorder thingy."

"Oh, okay. Well, there's a new one," Ted sniped. "Like I said, nothing to say."

"Shhh! We have to keep quiet. We want to sneak up on them so they don't get away."

"Funny how you have to do that when you're gonna tie somebody up," Ted mumbled.

Caroline walked her men into the huge house, motioning them down long and short hallways. "Wow," Vito whispered, "Dis place … wow."

"Nobody touch anything," Caroline reminded.

Ted burst into laughter, and both his partners in crime shushed him. "Sorry," he wisecracked. "Lost my head there for a minute."

They stepped into a massive great room, Vito's orbed head spinning as he stared up at the domed ceiling's circular pattern. "Whoooaaa, dis is making me dizzy." He moved as if through an amusement park ride that had unsteady floors. "Hey!" he whispered loudly. "Dis reminds me a da Titanic!"

"Feels like it, too," Ted pointed out.

"Shhh!" Caroline stopped and glared back at them. "Do you want to get caught?"

Ted admitted, "I don't even know what we're doing here. Oh, right, evidence. Oh no, we're gonna tie 'em up and force 'em to-"

"Dere he goes again, Carr," Vito said, "ruining all our fun."

Caroline led them down another staircase, down another long hallway, and into another great room, this one with murals painted on the ceiling. Vito again gasped at its lavishness, and Ted pointed out the irony of religious paintings in a house where they were about to murder, er, tie someone up.

"They probably spend most of their time down in the media room," Caroline whispered. "It's down here."

As they walked toward a third great room, they could hear moans of passion. "Uh-oh," Vito said. "Dis is gonna be embarrassing, aint it?"

"Why?" Caroline asked.

Vito stopped and held onto her hand. "Don't go no foither, Carr. Let's think about dis. What if dey're, you know, doing it?"

"Don't be silly, Vito," she answered. "That's gotta be coming from the TV. I used to do it with him, remember? There's not a woman or a goat on Earth Jerry could emit that much noise from."

Beet-red face notwithstanding, Vito laughed. "Goat ... dat's funny."

In usual fashion, he and Caroline cracked up, while Ted looked to the sky for help. They all crept down a couple steps into a sunken area whose first unmistakable feature was a floor-to-ceiling television that stretched nearly the entire length of the wall. They peaked around the corner. Surely someone was in there. Caroline stood in front and swiftly spread her hands to her sides, keeping the men in check. "Stop!" she whispered gruffly.

They stood silently for minutes, until Ted finally spoke. "Well, Carr," he mocked, "what now? We're not just going to stand here, are we?"

By now it was apparent that Caroline's observation of Jerry's sexual prowess was on the nose; the groans of passion were coming from the television. She dropped her hands to her side, beckoning them onward as if heading into battle. "Let's go."

They prowled further into the enormous, sectioned-off room, each taking a section. As they lurked about, a new fact became apparent. "Aint nobody home, Carr. Crap. We drove all dis way and skulked tru dis entire mansion like we was boiglars or somethin' and … nuttin'."

"Think you're right," Caroline conceded.

"Well, as long as we're here," Vito said, "we might as well look for more evidence, huh?"

"Oh hell." Ted grumbled and headed toward the bar. "I need a drink."

"Baby, please don't," Caroline urged, as she stood on the other side of the room searching cubby holes that might still possess remnants of her old life.

"Ha! Please don't. Please don't," Ted griped. "How come when she says it, all of a sudden it's supposed to mean something?"

"Hey, Teddy," Vito said, "so long as you're doling out libations, how's about yous make something for me?"

"Why the hell not." Ted stepped up to the bar and stood, checking out the liquor display on the wall, scanning for his anesthetic of choice. "No Jose," he observed. "Dammit." He looked across the elegant room to the designer coffee

table. "But they've got plenty-a Mad Dog. Hilarious." As he stepped behind the bar to see if there was anything hidden from view, his feet instantly skidded from one side to the other, finally landing him flat onto Peg's coagulating carcass. Now lying face-to-face with her ice-cold kisser, he murmured, "Bloody … bloody-"

"Bloody Mary, yeah! Poifect," Vito asserted.

"No. Huh-uh. No, no, no," Ted muttered, as he slid about the gory mess. In his attempt to stand, he streaked his bloodstained hands over porous tiles, up and down the sides of the sparkling white granite bar, and inside and out anything else his felon-on-parole palm prints could grab.

"Okay," Vito said. "Den how's about a … a-"

"Blood!" Ted shrieked.

"Okay!" Vito said, heading over to the bar to see for himself. "Sheesh. I thought you was saying dere wasn't no … uh-oh." He stared down for a few seconds, scratched the back of his neck, and said, "Um, Carr?"

"Don't let 'im have a drink, Veet. I mean it." Caroline was still on a hunt for anything incriminating she could find on her evil ex and his catty woman.

"Mrs. M., I think you better get over here."

"What is it, Mr. S.?" she inquired, clucking her teeth._ "Must I do everything around here?"_ She continued flipping

through papers and cabinets, awaiting Vito's answer. "What do you want, Vito?" She looked up from her search. There was no mistaking Ted's crimson appearance. "Baby!" Her

fear immediately carried her to her husband's aid. "Baby, what happened?!" Now at the bar, she saw the untidiness behind it. Awestruck by the dreadful sight, she informed, "Peg."

Vito bent at the body's side. "Looks like she been shot."

"How can you tell?" Ted asked.

Vito reached over the corpse, retrieved something from the floor, and rolled it in his fingers. "Don't look like no pro did dis."

"Why do you say that?" Caroline asked.

"'Cause a pro wouldn't leave dis." He held up a shell casing. "Either dat, or somebody got demselves a discount hitman."

Bending to the body, Caroline cried, "You gotta be kidding me!" She reached around the neck of the remains.

"What is it?" Ted inquired.

She yanked a chain. "Look at this!" They all bent to see, as Caroline exhibited a gold necklace with a dangling charm. "This is mine! That SOB. I lost this, like, five years ago!" Revelation swept over her face, and her tone changed to a whisper. "I can't believe it. They were … all that time. Five years, and I had no clue."

Ted and Vito moved in to look closer at the medallion. "Are you sure it's yours?" Ted asked. "Maybe he just bought another one."

"Nope. I'm positive. Look." She turned the charm over, showing its engravings.

Ted read aloud, "To CAW. From GOD." Ted and Vito burst into laughter. "Seriously? His initials spell God?"

"Oh, trust me," Caroline informed, "Jerry thinks everything about him spells God."

Ted said, "Wait. C … A … W?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Well, aren't your initials CAB?"

"Technically," she schooled, "they're CAWB. I have two middle names."

"Weird," Vito said.

"Not that weird," Ted said. "My dad's got two middle names, each for another family member they wanted to name him after." He looked to his wife. "So, what's the W for?"

She grinned and shrugged. "Wonderful. Whimsical. Bewitching. Take your pick."

"Bewitching?" Ted chuckled. "That's a B word."

"Yeah, so am I. What's your point?"

Vito laughed. "B word ... get it? Dat's funny." He gave Ted a glance. "She aint never gonna tell us, Teddy boy."

"Damn right, Veet," Caroline divulged. "It doesn't even show up on my birth certificate."

"So how'd Jerry learn it?" Ted asked.

"Well, technically," Caroline confessed, "you're not the only one with a prison record around here."

"Seriously?!" Ted said. "What did you do?"

"Well, I sorta got arrested in college for ... indecent exposure."

"Indecent? In France?" Ted queried.

"No. This was undergrad, before I went to chef school in Paris. Jerry was working as an EMT when I was arrested, and wouldn't ya know it, he was at the precinct the same night I was there. Somehow he got hold of my arrest record. He said he recognized me from a newspaper article about my father's winery. Said he wanted to meet me, so he lifted it to get my address. Jerk spent the next hundred years calling me 'Caw.' Annoying."

"Wait," Ted said. "The cops couldn't have gotten your full name without you telling it to them. So how'd that happen?"

"I was drunk, what can I say? The dude asked for my full name, and I just blurted it out, Caroline Anastazia Wi ... and so forth."

"Ugh." Ted rolled his eyes at Caroline's insolence. "I'll find out, one way or another. And by the way, you don't really have a prison record. Just an arrest record."

"What's the difference?" she asked.

"Prison and jail, two different things," Ted informed. "Trust me."

"Ha!"

"What?" Ted and Vito asked.

"The initials!" Caroline said. "CAW! Holy crap, he must have had to think fast on his feet to come up with a nickname to match those initials from this necklace he stole from me!"

Ted replied, "Wait. He calls her-"

"Cat Woman!"

Vito threw out a boisterous guffaw. "Holy cow! It's like in a movie, where some moron gives his goilfriend a gift dat belonged to his wife, and he forgot dere was an inscription!"

They all laughed at Jerry's stupidity, then Ted, staring at Peg's dead body, said, "So how do you think this happened?"

"Baby, it coulda been anybody who knows her. Seriously. I'm still in touch with a couple people, Tommy Ray, Mikey D., and from what I hear from T.R., I could almost see him pushing that bullet into her temple, gun or no gun!"

Again they laughed and, as their laughter died down and they stared at the bloody evidence, it was all too clear. There was one giant elephant's ass crowding the room—in the form of felon-on-parole Theodore Jefferson Morrison's deoxyribonucleic acid once again saturating the crime scene.

At last, Vito cracked his knuckles, bent over, and said, "Okay, grab an end."

_96_

"Wait'll you see the paper." Ted peered out from behind current events and pointed out headlines lying next to coffee.

"Is this something I'm gonna care about?" Caroline shuffled her slippers around the breakfast nook, leaned over her husband, and kissed his forehead. "Love you."

Ted set his coffee down in favor of clasping both of his wife's hands. "I love you, too, Beautiful."

"How can you call me beautiful this early in the morning? I think you need glasses, baby."

"You're kidding, right? You don't spend much time looking in mirrors, do you, hot stuff?"

She knelt beside him, threw fluffy terry cloth arms around him, and nuzzled his neck. "I know you mean well, Rome, but please don't call me that."

"Hot stuff? Why not?"

"'Cause that's the name of Jerry's restaurant. Do you believe it? He changed my beautiful elegant restaurant into a sleazy club where people shake their half-naked butts on a tacky dance floor and do drugs and … ugh." She shook out her disgust. "Just makes me sick to think of what a sophisticated bistro it was before, and now … what a low-class pig."

"You didn't really think he'd improve it, did you?"

"Yeah, I guess not." Ted poured her a cup of coffee, and she sat on his lap sipping. "So where's this big news you wanted me to see?"

He held up the headlines. "Take a look." Caroline's eyes popped.

IMPRISONED MOLESTER CHARGED IN

THREE CASES OF CHILD MURDER

68-year old Harrison Bertram Marr, currently serving 288 years for molesting 20 children, was charged yesterday in the murders of three children whose bodies were found buried beneath the banks of Cohler River. The children, all three friends and classmates, went missing in 1992 on their way home from a birthday party.

Assistant District Attorney Franz Costareale says the evidence against Marr is overwhelming. "It all points to Harrison Marr. He was a suspect from the beginning, but we just didn't have enough evidence. Now we've got him, all the scientific proof in the world to send this filth to death row, for sure. I always thought that was where he belonged, but the State can't set a death penalty for molestation cases. Maybe it's time we change the law."

Marr's defense team, headed by famed attorney Katelyn Block, says a change of venue is in order. "A fair trial is the most important thing in our justice system. Harrison Marr won't ever be able to get one in this town." Atty. Block is most noted for garnering an acquittal for the notorious Main Street Seven, who were charged with torturing and murdering disabled twins in what became the area's most publicized and polarizing trial ever.

Marr was convicted in 2005 of repeatedly molesting 20 children, four of whom later committed suicide. Atty. Block added to her comment by saying, "Most of the families still live in the area, and several of the parents still write to Harry, taunting him in prison. He's paying for his mistakes, but that's not enough for them. We must never forget—the accused have rights."

KLGardner's _The Shequalizer_

Ted saw a fury boiling in his mad lover's eyes as she dropped the paper to the floor and ran upstairs.

"Where are you going?"

"I've got pies to bake."

_97_

"I know he did it, Veet." Caroline stared out at the water. That river. It always had a terrifying significance for her, considering what her husband had been through because of it. Now it was an even more offensive presence. "_Mustn't blame the river, Caroline. It's the evil people."_

"We've got to do this now," she insisted. "If the defense lawyers get their way, that freak'll be whisked off to some faraway place and I'll never get my … justice, never get justice."

"I'm with ya, Carr. Just tell me whatta do."

"No worries, Sweet Veet. We've got everything we need right here." She patted the pastry box. "And the note we added … I can't wait to see his face when he reads it." She tossed her head back and laughed an abrupt cackle that actually startled Vito.

As they drove up to the gate, they saw more armed guards than usual standing in front of it. Vito pulled his Chevelle up and idled.

"What's going on, sirs?"

"Limited visitors today. Only family," one of the guards said. "You family?"

"Uh, she's … he's … uncle … she's visiting her uncle."

"Name?"

319

"Caroline Morrison."

"No. Name of the prisoner."

"Harrison Marr."

The guards looked at each other. "Okay. He probably aint gonna be here much longer. We been authorized to let all his visitors through."

_98_

"Did you do it?"

"Do what, lovely girl?"

"You know what I mean. Did you kill those innocent children?"

"No, no, no."

"So you did not do it?"

"No, lovely girl. They were not innocent."

Harrison Marr stared at her with a licentious, crazed smirk. He fluttered his eyes and dropped his head back, chanting, "Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful of rye. Four and twenty naughty children baked in a pie. When the pie was open ..."

Caroline had spent decades trying to rid her brain of that sickening voice, that preposterous, repugnant rhyme. But not today. Today she listened intently. Something was different. It was his twisted revision of it. "_Four and twenty ... naughty children."_ As he continued the bizarre chant, adding his sing-songy near melody, she recalled something he'd said on their last visit. "_I always preferred the other version … four and twenty naughty boys baked in a pie."_ Like her worn 'Sweeney Todd' record, he sang the same words over and over_. "Four and twenty naughty children … four and twenty -"_ She recalled the article._ "68-year old Harrison Bertram Marr, currently serving 288 years for molesting 20 children ... charged in the murders of three-_."

"No!" Caroline jumped to her feet_. _"You really did-" She stopped herself. "_Don't do it. You're the only person who can get him to-"_ She sat down. "Uncle Harry, you have something to say to me, don't you?"

"Yes."

"I'm listening."

"Will you marry me?"

"Excuse me?"

"If I tell you, lovely girl, will you marry me? We were meant to be together, you must know that. Remember? You said it … you love me. Sweet, sweet Anastazia, divorce him. You don't love him. You love me. Divorce him and marry-"

"Yes, I'll marry you."

At that, the murder suspect's eyes glowed. He clutched his hands to his chest and leaned up to her, his hot breath steaming the glass. He glared up and down her body, not looking at her face. He stared past everything that covered her. He scooped his dripping tongue up and over his lips, leaving a putrid, mucousy shine around them. He emitted a startling grunt followed by a protracted groan that trailed off, gruffly whispering, "One more."

"One more what?" Caroline asked. But Vito knew. He spewed a deafening shriek from his gut and, suddenly, Caroline grasped. "No!" Her eyes gushed as she remembered her purpose. "Uncle Harry, no."

"They were all naughty," he impeached. "They said they loved me. They … didn't. They screamed, tried to get away from me. Why? Why would they do that if they loved me? They weren't like you, lovely girl. You love me. Oh, how I simply cannot wait for us to wed!"

As they listened to his abhorrent disclosure with all its sniveling, filthy indulgences, Vito cemented his reddening expression on the degenerate, allowing the tears to rush down his cheeks and drop to the table in pools.

Restraining her disgust, Caroline held a severe smile and kept her voice as gentle as she could get it, considering. "Where … should they look?"

"I can't wait. Oh, I simply cannot wait. To finally once again feel your creamy body next-"

"Uncle Harry," she interrupted, clutching Vito's hand tighter each time his rage increased. Through gritted teeth, she smiled and asked it again. "Where should they look?"

"Look?" Harrison Marr rolled his coal black eyes and puffed, waving passively. "Oh, that." His speech was quick and uncolored. "Where else? The river. Close to where they found the others. But maybe … deeper?" His eyes glimmered, now squinting fancifully at the ceiling. "My but she was beautiful. As though … your twin. Definitely the beauty of their little group. So sweet yet so seductive. Mmmm, so much like you, lovely girl." His expression hardened. "And yet … not." He cocked his head like a confounded pup. "I was good to her. So good. But she didn't really love me either. Her love, it was not pure. As it turned out, she was not like you at'all."

At the horrifying confession, Caroline held her anger. But that didn't mean Vito had to. The second she released his hand, the huge man shoved his friend out of the way. Now standing as a towering presence, he barreled his hulking body against the window and spat a dripping wad of phlegm into the glass. Before guards could stop him, he lifted the steel chair over his head and hurled it at the shatterproof glass. "You did it! You moidered dem innocent babies!" Two guards ran to constrain him. "Dere aint nuttin' pure about you 'cept pure evil, you filthy bastard!" Three more guards hurried to the enraged giant and held his arms behind him. Vito struggled to release them, if only to wipe his tears. "Yous hoid 'im! Dere's one more! He said it!" He released a thunderous, rumbling wail. "You sick mother-"

As the team of now seven guards finally slapped the cuffs locked, Caroline heard words come out of her Sweet Veet she'd never dreamed possible. She followed the men to the dank room's exit, remembering something. The note they'd baked into one of the pies. "_I won't get to see his face when he reads it."_ How she'd longed all these years to see him squirm. But that didn't matter now. On this, her final visit to Cozi Center, she had gotten something much more important—a confession.

She remembered Ted's words about Jerry. Perhaps just one more visit? "_You want to see him squirm, go to the execution. It don't get no squirmier than that."_

_99_

As Dahlia again filled Ted's glass with more root beer, she bent down and kissed his cheek. "It'll be fine, luv."

"Yeah, right." He glared at the glass and pushed it away. "Don't you have anything stronger, for God's sake? This is a bar, right?"

"Can't do it, luv. Sorry." She winked at Caroline, who had just walked through the door.

"I was afraid I'd find you here."

"Whatever," he returned.

Dahlia inquired, "So, what'd you do wiv it?"

"With what?" Caroline asked.

The bartender leaned in close and whispered, "You know, what'd you do wiv Peg's body?"

"Same thing we did with the others," Caroline answered. "Except we were in a bigger hurry, so we couldn't-"

"La la la la la." Ted covered his ears. "I thought I wasn't supposed to hear this?" His voice turned even more sarcastic. "Remember, Carr? Possible liability?"

Dahlia scrunched her mouth. "Possible li … what?"

"Forget it, D," Caroline dismissed.

"Oh, trust me, D," Ted added, "you don't wanna know either."

Dahlia motioned Caroline away from Ted. "Missing his son, again, huh?"

"I think so." She stepped behind her husband and gently placed her hands on his shoulders, whispering in his ear, "Baby, why are you here, at a bar, by yourself?"

"I'm not by myself," he said. "Dolly's here. Besides, isn't the question, why are you here?" He lifted his wrist to display an old-fashioned watch face. "It's half past retribution." His wife bent over and sniffed the glass, and Ted shoved her away. "Get your mitts off."

Dahlia pulled a notepad and pen from her ear. "Can I getcha somethin', luv?"

"No thanks. Think I've got a stomach bug."

"Wonder why," Ted said. "Revenge can make a person sick to their stomach, ya know. Maybe it's all those flies on all those dead bodies?" He released a pained chuckle.

Caroline gave her husband a slight roll of the eyes and checked the time. "I better hit the road. Vito and Betsy are waiting."

"What's your hurry?" Ted slapped his hand on the table. "I thought you were talking about a dish best served cold?" He lifted his glass high, toasted air, downed the root beer in three loud gulps, and slammed the glass back down on the table. "To vengeance!"

Now at the door, Caroline raised her voice, "Don't let him have a drink, Doll. I mean it."

"Yeah," Ted said, "wouldn't want me to do anything bad for me, huh, Carr?"

"No worries, luv," Dahlia said, resting her arms around Ted's neck. "You go take care-a business. Your hubby's in good 'ands."

Ted jerked his head back to his beloved in a panic, tears sitting in his eyes. Unable to stop it, his lips curled at the edges as his lashes fluttered, dropping beads onto his cheeks. Defenseless, he sat staring at her beautiful face. His body now quivering, he reached up his hand and blew her a gentle, troubled kiss.

Caroline stared sweetly back at her one true love, still able to see the piercing blue of his eyes even from across the room. She lifted her hand in a soft feminine wave and blew a devoted kiss back. As she stepped over the threshold, they both mouthed, "I love you," and the door shut behind her.

_100_

"Please, T.R. Just this once. I'm telling you, she wouldn't miss this."

"What in tarnation do you want me to do about it?!"

"I need you to help me find Peg, dammit!"

Betsy walked into Jerry's office, carrying a tray of small bowls. She stopped before him, curtsied, set a smaller tray on his desk, and placed a bowl on it. At the sight of the buxom fiery-haired beauty, Jerry's tone instantly went from panicked to profane. He stared her up and down, as she handed him the tiny bowl and a spoon.

"It's delicious."

"Mmmm," Jerry murmured, staring through her dress. "I'll just bet it is." He held the bowl up to his mouth and dipped his tongue straight into the cold soup. "Laaaaaaaa," he discharged, licking all around the inner rim of the bowl, all the while still glaring at Betsy without a single blink.

Tommy Ray's voice shrieked from the speaker. "What in Hades is going on over there?! Gerald O?!"

"Oh, T.R., you should see what I'm seeing here," Jerry informed. He sat down at the desk, stroking his spoon across the bowl and lifting it to his mouth, licking it all over until all the soup was gone. "I can't get enough," he drooled. With every lick, he groaned and grunted. Finally, he lifted the bowl and licked it clean, not once taking his eyes off Betsy as she walked out the door.

"Gerald? Gerald Oliver?! I'm gonna hang up if you don't get your lewd ass back-"

"T.R.! No! Don't go. I'm here. Please, please, please. You have to help me. I got home today, and Peg was gone. She's nowhere, Tommy Ray, nowhere!"

"Ah, quit yer bellyachin', she's gotta be somewhere."

"No, I mean it. Something's wrong. Our engagement party's going on right now, and she's not here! She wouldn't miss-"

"Engagement party? Oh, that's nice, and I wasn't even-"

"Seriously? After all that happened between us, you expected us to invite-"

"And you expect me to help you find that she-devil?!"

"I'm sorry. No, T.R. I'm sorry. Look, I'll pay you. I'll give you a thou … five hundred dollars to help me find her. You remember all the places she goes. Please. Can you drive around and-"

"Boo!"

Jerry felt hot angry breath in his ear. He turned. Caroline's face grinned back at him. In her hands, she held another bowl of vichyssoise. She lifted it to his chin and held the spoon in front of his face. In a sugary sweet voice, she said, "Your favorite, Jerry Beary. I knew that tiny bowl wouldn't be enough for you."

Jerry dropped his cell phone to the carpet. "Caroline?" He moved his eyes indecently over her supple body. "Unghhh, you're wearing my-"

"I know. Your favorite red dress. I remember when you bought this for me. Well, for you, huh, Jerr Bear?"

His eyes popping again, he reminisced. "Mmmm. Yeah, I remember that night," he released a grunting chuckle, "and next morning, mmmm." His mouth wide open, Caroline shoved a spoonful of the cold soup into it.

"Yummy, isn't it?"

"Yummy, uh-hummmm," he concurred. "Damn!" he shrieked, thrusting his crotch forward, "if you aint still the hottest chick I have ever seen!" Inside, Caroline recoiled, but outwardly she grinned and continued spooning soup into his mouth until he finally choked awareness. "Wait." He grabbed her hand. "Wait a minute! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Me?" She pulled out his old cell phone and flipped through texts. "I just happened to be the proprietor of a little establishment called," she held the phone to his eyes, stopping on the most incriminating of the texts, "Served Cold." Jerry's face drained of its blood. "And that's just what I'm here to do," she again picked up the bowl of soup, "cater your engagement party with a little something that's best served cold." Tommy Ray's voice still resounding from the carpet, Caroline bent and picked up the phone.

"Hey, southern dreamboat, how are ya?"

"Caroline? Holy grits, girl, is 'at you?"

"You bet it is, sweet cheeks. How ya doing?"

"I'm great, girlie girl. Well, now that I aint workin' for that lascivious ex-a yours na more. How are you, gorgeous gal?"

"Oh, I'm good. Really good."

"How's the new hubby?"

"Wonderful. You gotta come out and meet him sometime."

"Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, gal! So what the hell's going on with Bonnie and Clyde over there, anyway?"

"Oh, that. False alarm. We found her. She's right here in the room with us."

"Well, that's good. 'Cause I honestly cannot see myself staying up late tonight, scouring the streets for that hag anyway."

"I hear ya, Tommy Ray. Well, we're gonna hit the road here 'cause me and my ex-husband, we've got a lot to talk about."

"Okay, gorgeous. You take care now."

Caroline said her goodbyes to her favorite southern lothario and hung up. Still staring at the texts, Jerry said, "What have you done?"

"Oh, didn't you hear what I said? You were standing right here when I said it." She picked up the soup and held it to his face. "I said Peg's right here. Right here in the room with us." She held up a spoonful of the vichyssoise and touched it to his lips. "Mmmm. Best served cold." Paralyzed with fear at the mystery before him, Jerry watched in horror, as Caroline raised a final spoonful of the soup high in front of his eyes, plopping Peg's four-point-six-carat residue back into the bowl.

"See that, Jerr Bear. You said Peg makes a better vichyssoise than I do … and darned if it aint true!"

_101_

The Porsche gunned to perilous speed, trailing the hillbilly truck's flaps by inches. As lightning snapped, the car zigzagged the twisting road, the stricken man inside retching at the thought of his lover and where she was now.

_"She makes a better vichyssoise_. _She makes a better vichyssoise_."

The putrid words stabbed Jerry's brain and gnarled his gut, as he heaved up the vileness, drenching the leather luxury with the abomination. He could almost hear his ex-wife's elated laughter seeping into his car, even through the crackling, thundering night.

Giving faster and faster chase, his frenzied rage clouded his eyes and his judgment. His tires' ever-increasing speed challenged every rock and puddle of the stormy darkness. Spinning, correcting, spinning, and correcting.

Shifting now into final gear, the sleek, slippery wheels struck an unseen crag. Its jagged edge clawed at the tire, pivoting the Porsche into a skidding fishtail_. _

"No, no, no! Steer into it, Jerry!"

Panicked now, his confused foot slammed down on gas rather than brake. The blown tire veered the Porsche to the right, sending Jerry and his deluxe model soaring over the cliff.

As her homicidal ex plunged into the chasm of blackness, Caroline watched in her rearview mirror the stylish auto repeatedly strike the mountainside.

"Yes!" she shrieked. Releasing the wheel, she threw up her fist in supreme triumph, "Go to hell!"

It was one brash move too many for the reckless beauty, her huge truck now trembling on the bluff's brink.

_102_

Each bite of every little organic meat pie only made him want more. More of her beguiling loveliness; more of her seductive pedigree; more, so much more, Anastazia.

Harrison Marr sat in his suite, faintly tittering as he pored over the pastry, thinking how addicted he had become. They could have been laced with cocaine, for all he knew. Their irresistible piquancy. That unique, potent bouquet. How the whole experience made him think of his bride, pervading his senses even as he slept. Oh, the fanciful imaginings, how they pierced his emotions and penetrated his insides, as he separated each sumptuous bite from the whole, rolling it around on his tongue, imagining his betrothed. Their uncorrupted affection. The purity of their coupling.

"_This symbolizes my love for you, Anastazia."_

But this was the last little pie, and he didn't know when she would bring more.

"_When, oh when will you return, lovely girl_?"

Oh, but it didn't matter now, for they were to be married_. _

_"She said yes!"_

As he savored the pastry's bittersweet goodness, allowing it to sift through his mouth deliberately, unhurriedly, he stared at the canvas that so utterly depicted their love. He bore into it, fantasizing about being with her, again. Her 13th birthday party—it had begun as the most wonderful day of his life, the day he had made her a woman. Sadly, its oppressive shift had made it his worst.

_"Society,"_ he balked. "_She couldn't show her love."_

He bit deep into the meat pie, eyes transfixed on the world of that painting, pupils pervading its sensual frolic.

"_Soon, that will be us, chaste_ _Lucretia to my stalwart Tarquin."_

He nibbled the pie's crust, then chomped into a heaping, meaty mouthful.

_"What's this?"_

He pulled the pastry from his mouth and looked.

"_A love letter? A love letter from my sweet Anastazia!"_

Face beaming, Harrison Marr's gleeful eyes scanned her musical words:

Sing a song of sixpence

A pocketful of rye

Wicked child molesters

Baked in a pie

When the pies were open

They leapt into his veins

For child molester Harry's

Been eating their remains

Not Longfellow perhaps,

but I'd say your 'purity' thing?

Down the toilet.

(Down the toilet ... get it? That's funny.)

_103_

His heavy heart fluttered. His eyes trickled what little fluid they had left. His legs carried his body, this time to the chair. From the bed, to the sofa, to the chair … "_her_ _favorite_ _chair_." This was his life now. He read the two lines, again and again:

Cause of death: Car accident

Deceased: Caroline Barker Morrison and fetus

Theodore Jefferson Morrison the Third crawled his deadened legs into his departed wife's chair and tried not to think of the brief time they'd had on this Earth together. He tried not to think about her exquisite face, her glistening sapphire eyes, her silky skin. He tried not to recall her wondrous infectious laugh, her brilliant wit, her pain. He tried not to think about what it was like to hold her soft, strong body in his arms, what it was like to live deep inside her love and remain there all night. He tried not to think about the baby their love had made. He tried, so hard, not to think about what his life would be like now, without her.

As he sunk deeper, as deep as he could, into her favorite soft chair, feeling and smelling her essence all around him, Ted's faint, crackled whisper called out.

"Here Bobby."

_104_

Five months, and the doorbell hadn't stopped ringing the whole time. Vito, Dahlia, Betsy, Benno, and there were so many more. Friends who were becoming increasingly concerned, as the second-time widower had holed up inside his house, seeing and speaking to no one. Through Christmas, winter, and now into spring, as the birds and sun were smiling, there was no smiling in the Morrison house. The only one he'd spoken to was the little dog she had so loved. And there was the occasional call out to Jesus asking why. Why did he have to lose yet another loved one? Why had God so cursed this man, who had now lost two entire families?

Their business now boarded up, neglected perhaps for good, their friends frantically clamoring for a chance to help the mourning man, and sobriety a thing of the past, Ted wanted nothing to do with the future. Every day without fail, the worried group of friends took turns stopping by, knocking on the window, calling into the dirty house, almost able to smell the pain and filth even from outside it. He could hear, but their voices sounded like muffled noise in his brain, commotion that wouldn't stop no matter how much he wished it away.

The flowers and gifts continued to pile up at the window, as the rain and snow beat down on them, much

like life had done to the childless father, the wifeless husband inside. Still, their prayers continued.

"You're Annie's hubby, aintcha?"

Ted's brain in a fog for months, they were the only words that grabbed his attention since the moment he'd learned his family had succumbed on that cliff.

"What the hell?" He jolted off Caroline's chair, sending booze, blankets, and Bobby all tumbling to the floor. The sudden move sent the dog into a barking, tail-chasing fury. "Calm down, little guy," Ted said, as he held his best buddy against his Cuervo-soaked T-shirt. "You okay, dude?" At the ceaseless knocking, he stepped in front of the window and pulled back the blankets just enough to peer out, hoping to avoid detection.

"There ya are, sonny!"

Ted ducked as the strange man moved from the porch to the window, stomping on Caroline's favorite hydrangeas, their beauty, like their architect, now just a memory. The stranger stood at the window, cupping his hand around his eyes and tapping the glass.

"Ya gonna let me in? Annie's got something for ya."

Ted knelt under the picture window, steaming at the suggestion that his wife could have anything for him ever again. He looked down into Bobby's big brown eyes. "Who is this guy who's calling her Annie? Do you know?" The man shouted louder, and Bobby barked, jumped out of Ted's arms, and ran to the door.

"Bobby baby! Is 'at my Bobby?!" Ted could hear the man's footsteps, as he scuffled back through the weeds up onto the porch again. He knocked much louder this time. "Teddy, can you let me in, son?" He chuckled. "I'm a good guy, just ask little Bobby there." He waited for a few moments, then softened his voice and added, "Teddy, Annie told me all about ya. She wanted me to give ya something. Please open the door, sweet cheeks. Come on. How 'bout it?"

Suddenly, Ted remembered. There was only one person left on Earth who had called her 'Annie,' and she'd talked about him many times. One of her all-time favorite people—boisterous barrister Mikey D.

Ted puffed a breath into his hand and sniffed, quivering at what breathed back at him. "Goodnight." He checked his robe pockets and looked at Bobby. "What in the world would made me think I'd have mints in these pockets, Bob?" He chuckled, then realized it was the first time since … that night … that he'd even cracked a smile. He checked the floor, coffee table, end tables for anything that could return his reflection. "Oh, what the hell." He sleeked back his oily hair, walked to the door, and opened it a crack.

"Are you-"

"Name's Michael Dallas Esquire. But your little Ann … Caroline called me Mikey D."

Confirmed. Ted gently closed the door, pulled the chain off it, and opened it again. "Please, uh, pardon the mess."

As Mikey stood at the now-open doorway, Bobby leaped into his arms. "Bob, you little son of a gun!" He kissed the pup, tossed him playfully around a bit, then stepped over the threshold. "Whoooeeee, boy!" he shrieked, and waved his hand over his nose. "That aint the dog, is it?"

Ted chuckled. "Yeah, sorry about the smell too. I guess … guess I-"

"Hey," the huge man placed a comforting paw on Ted's shoulder, "don't you dare, son. Considerin' whatch'you been through, you got every right in the world to stink."

As Ted tossed his head back and released his customary hearty laugh, he remembered all the times his wife had said how much she loved that. Tears instantly welled in his eyes.

"Come on, sonny," the very macho, very sensitive Mikey D. consoled. "Let's move to the couch." As he held his arm on Ted's shoulder to guide him, the southern solicitor crunched his giant boots over plastic cups, papers, and just about anything else that cluttered the floors of the disheveled domicile. Ted cleared a place for Mikey on one end of the sofa, and he took the only clear spot, at the other end.

As he hiked up his pants and sat, Mikey raised his voice and said, "You want me to shout all the way over there to ya, son?!" He bumped his hands to his chest, and Bobby hopped onto his lap.

Ted breathed a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry." He stepped to a chair and stared for a few seconds at the mess occupying it.

"Oh, hell." He flipped the chair backward, dumping the contents onto the floor.

"Well, that's one way," Mikey snickered. "Here, son." He stood up and motioned for Ted to take the sofa. "You just park your weary can right there while I take the chair here." He gently lowered his huge bottom into it, and added, "I just hope it won't dump my substantial rump onto the floor along with the rest of that stuff there."

"I'm beginning to see why Caroline liked you so much."

"Oh, sonny. Annie, that girl, she was one of a kind."

Ted's eyes beaded his face with droplets, and he wiped them with his arm. "Sorry."

"Don't you ever say you're sorry for that, son. Look here. I lost my wife 14 years ago come June. I still cry nearly ever'day fer what I'm missin' out on. And you? Well, Annie told me. She told me all about you, Teddy, and what you been through."

"Yeah," Ted said. "Guess God just likes to curse some people."

"No way," Mikey insisted. "Hey, sweet cheeks, lemme tell ya, that is a common misconception. Jesus, He don't curse nobody." He chuckled. "Double negative notwithstandin'." He repositioned Bobby to his other hand, adding a gentle repositioning of his large behind in the chair. "It aint God what does the cursin', son. This here's Satan's world, you remember that. And death? That bastard's an enemy to God, too. He never wanted it fer us, but now that we got it, it's His way-a gettin' us back to Himself. Remember that, too."

Ted rolled his eyes. "And what about all … this?" He waved his hands up and glanced around.

"Ya mean, what about alla this mess?"

Ted laughed. "Yeah, something like that."

"The world is a damned mess, aint it, son? Yeah, I suspect it'll all make sense to us one day. But right now, all we can do is look up to Jesus and say, 'You're the man!'" He stretched out his hand, Bobby at the end of it, and Ted accepted the pup. "Meantime," he reached into his breast pocket, "I got somethin' fer ya." He pulled out a thick, bulging envelope. "This here's from Annie." He unfolded the papers, flattened them with his palms, and handed them to Ted.

"What is it?"

"Just take a gander at that right there, son. You'll get the gist on page one."

Ted's eyes examined the legal documents_. "Being of sound mind … do hereby bequeath … all my estate … Theodore Jefferson Morrison, III … sum of 16.2 million dollars."_

"What in the world?"

"Look, Teddy, I know you'd much rather have your beautiful Caroline back. I look at you, and I … look … around here," his smiling eyes pointed out the mess and Ted lowered his head, "and I see how much you loved her. There aint no doubt in my mind you'd rather have her back here 'an all the money in the world. But, son, this is what she's got to give ya right now, so you take it."

Mikey could barely hear Ted's restrained whispers. "She ... brought up ... her money ... I don't know how many times, but I'd never let her talk about it. Hell, I don't care if we don't have a dollar between us. I just want to be with her."

"No doubt, son," Mikey offered. "But how about you, I don't know, just think of it as a means-a … continuing her work?"

"_Continuing her work,"_ Ted thought. He momentarily wondered about that 'work,' but then heard her beautiful voice in his head. _"I trust you, my boy-scout."_ He knew just what to do.

"Son, you loved her," Mikey continued, "I know that. And she loved you. I tell you, she'd call me and we'd talk, oh, 'bout once every coupla weeks or so. And, boy, there weren't nothin' she enjoyed talkin' 'bout more 'an how happy she was she'd found the man-a her dreams. Said she never trusted another man on this Earth like she did you."

Ted's face reddened a couple shades. "Then why? Why couldn't she just be happy with me, with our life? Why did she have to-"

"She was an angry girl, son. There weren't nothin' you could do about that." Mikey squinted his eyes in remembrance of remote things. "What Harry Marr, that sick sumbitch, done to her, I tell you, I will never forget that day."

"You … were there? At her-"

"13th birthday party? You bet I was. And it was one unpalatable day, fer sure. But, son, what her daddy done to her, well, that there was the fire that kept Annie burnin' alla these years." He shook his head and pointed upward. "A girl's gotta be able to trust her daddy, know what I mean?"

Ted looked again at the papers. "But … why? When did she do this?"

"The day she tossed her house and binness to that ex-jackass-a hers, that's when."

"But that was … we'd only known each other-"

"I know it. You'd only met that one night." Mikey leaned onto the arm of the chair, closer to Ted. "Look, was my Annie reckless? I aint never seen nobody more so. But did she know love when she felt it? You better believe it. Teddy, alls I can say is, she loved you and she wanted you to have that money. If anything was to … happen to her, it was all to go to you. 'Cause if there was one thing Annie couldn't stand, it was seeing you in pain. Problem was, she couldn't stop her own."

"But she wouldn't let me stop it either." Not able to imagine himself crying in front of this man's man, Ted had been holding back his sobs since Mikey had stepped through the doorway. Finally, his pain released. "I'm sorry. I … I just can't … I don't understand why-"

"I know." Mikey dashed to the sofa, gently moved empty bottles and dirty plates to the coffee table, and sat next to Ted. "I know, son. You don't understand. Why me, ya ask. Another loved one, another wife. You've lost way too much in your life. Two whole families now. Hell, even Job couldn't say that."

Ted inhaled the staggering revelation. "_Even Job."_

"And, trust me, son. I know you want revenge. I don't talk about it much na more but … my wife? My sweet Mary Jane was murdered." Ted gasped. "A random act of evil, ya might say. I kissed her g'bye in the mornin', expectin' to see her again that night for dinner. Just a few minutes later, some maniac pushed her onto subway tracks as the train was-"

"Dear God."

"Dear God is right. I called out to Him, 'Why me?' But I learned, Teddy. Free will. It's all about free will. I know Jesus tried to stop that man that day from hurtin' my sweetheart, but that reprobate did it anyway. And me? Well, I wanted to do it right back to him." Ted sighed. "Yeah, I know all about it. You, your wife, the drunk driver. But know this, son. That was then, and this is now. I know you're in pain now. And I know all too well that anger's gonna come real soon, if it aint already. But who do you lash out at? God? You know He didn't do it, but ya can't help thinkin' He coulda stopped it, right? But, Teddy, He give us free will, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

"Besides, nobody coulda stopped Annie's anger. Nobody, that is, but Annie. I just want you to remember, sonny. Remember what revenge done to yer life the last time." As Ted lifted his head, Mikey stared steel into his face. "You just remember there's a difference between revenge and justice."

He tapped Ted's shoulder, then lifted his sizable body off the couch with a grunt. "Ahh, I tell you, these old bones. I'd be headin' with Jesus myself soon, if I weren't so stiff-necked."

Ted threw his head back and laughed, thinking again how obvious it was why his wife loved this man so much. "I, uh, thank you, Mr. Dal-"

"Don't you dare. My best clients," he leaned in and whispered, "and by that, I mean my richest clients," he slapped Ted's back, "they all call me Mikey." He tapped the legal documents in Ted's hands. "And now that you're one of 'em, well-" He laughed, stepped over a pile of empty beer cans, and headed in the direction of the front door. "I'm just kiddin' ya, son. Any man my sweet Annie loved couldn't be called anything but friend to me. To you, Teddy Morrison, I am Mikey."

"Thank you, Mikey. But I feel kinda funny, you know, taking all this. Surely, some of it goes to you?"

The countrified counselor let out a rowdy 'ha!' and threw his arms around Ted, squeezing and shaking him like they were old college buddies. "Teddy, ma boy, Annie's family paid me and mine plenty over the years, trust me. Hell, I'm the shyster lawyer, remember?"

_105_

Ted smiled.

"_Wonder where she got this."_ He set Caroline's box of memories and important papers on the floor next to Bobby, knelt down, and held the photo in front of his damp eyes. "_Me and Chip … that last Christmas."_ He laughed softly, remembering the bike Chip had wanted, the money he'd saved up for it, the scooter, the tooth. After gazing into the past for a few more moments, he recalled his wife's words on the subject._ "I can't cry anymore. It's time for action." _

Ted pressed the celluloid to his lips, touched his fingertips one last time to the image of his boy, and lowered the picture back in its place with the rest of his bygone lives. The photos, the letters, the many death certificates. Bobby barked, as Ted finished packing it all up. "I know. Lotta people in here we miss, huh, little guy?" He swept the pooch up to his usual spot next to his heart, grabbed the box, and hoisted himself off the floor with his legs. "Not bad for an old man, eh, Bob?" The pup barked in agreement, and Ted tousled his hair. "You and me now, little fella."

He addressed the envelope that held the final check to abused-children's charities and placed a stamp on it. "We'll

just keep a little to renovate the shop, but the lion's share,

yeah, that's what she woulda wanted, I think. How's 'at sound?" The pup concurred with a spirited tail chase, as Ted grabbed the stack of checks for mailing, stuffed them into his pocket, and returned the rest of the stamps to the box.

As he tucked it all back into Caroline's side of the closet, her old denim shirt fell off the hanger to the floor. He bent over and picked it up. He couldn't help remembering the last time he'd seen her wearing it. "_The Thakkars."_ What those two wicked people had done to his life. He clutched the shirt to his face, breathing in his wife's fading scent. He thought back further, recalling the first time he'd seen her in it. The night they met. Just the two of them, all night. No nudity. No sex. Just two pained souls exchanging laughs, heartaches, trust.

As Ted stood recalling so many extraordinary moments he'd had with that radiant, passionate woman, he felt a warm chuckle come on that told him he would be all right. The wives he'd lost. The son he'd lost. The baby he never met. He would love them for eternity. They would always be close.

He bent down and snatched little Bobby up in his arms again, letting out a groan for the recent wear and tear. "Oh, wow. Either you're getting heavy, dude, or I'm getting old. And I think I know which." He tossed Caroline's shirt over his shoulder, stepped through his once-again clean house, and headed for the door.

"Come on, little guy. Let's go pick up our friends and get back to work."

_106_

"More questions?"

"Oui. My partner insisted I start wis you, Mr. Morrison."

"Can't yous guys ever leave Teddy alone? Aint he been tru enough?"

As Officer Pygmallon spoke, he glanced around the room, spying assorted baked goodies. "I am sorry, monsieur, but wis your record-"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Let's get on with it, if you don't mind. As you can see, we've got a lot of work to do."

"Oui, er, yes, I see zat. You are renovating ze old business?"

"Yes," Ted answered. "We … I … wanted … needed a change."

"Too many memories," Vito added.

"I understand. And please, monsieur, allow me to offer my condolences for ze loss of your lovely wife."

"Thank you. So, what is it now, officer? Missing persons? Mutinous C-PAP?"

"No, no." The officer squinted his eyes and breathed a heavy sigh. His eyes rolled all over Ted, then Vito, then Ted again. "Mmmm, I guess I can tell you, since it will be in all ze papers tomorrow anyway. And, well, because you were a suspect, Monsieur Morrison. Perhaps zis can ease your mind a bit, considering what you have been sru lately. We actually are no longer working zat missing persons case."

Vito's eyes bugged. "The … the … Thak … Thakkars? Uh … uh … yous, uh, found 'em, den?"

"Oh no, Monsieur," Officer P. squinted in thought, "er, Plato."

"Socrates."

"Pardone?"

"Wrong philosopher. Vito Socrates."

"Pardonne moi, Monsieur Socrates. No, no. We did not find ze Sakkars. Nussing like zat. But we did find somesing else, I am afraid." Ted threw his head in the direction of a table, and they all sat. "Sank you."

"May I get you some coffee, Officer-" Ted slowed his speech to get it right, "Puh-mal-yoh? A pastry, perhaps?"

"Perhaps later?"

Ted nodded. "Of course. Now, you were saying?"

"Oui, yes, ze Sakkars. We now believe zat zey have fled ze country."

Vito finally breathed. "No kiddin'? Fled the country, huh?"

"Yes. Our forensic computer analyst found somesing quite disturbing on zeir laptop. Very disturbing, indeed. A whole Internet child porn ring."

"No kiddin'?" Vito said.

"Yes." Officer P. shook his head in disgust. "And, between us, you wouldn't believe ze password to zeir laptop."

Vito blurted, "Cock-a-roach?"

"No."

"Dung beetle?"

"Er, no," the confused officer repeated. He leaned in close and whispered, "Pure love."

Ted remembered Caroline's wisecrack about passwords and thought, "_I couldn't have guessed that one in a thousand Lifetime movies."_

"Pretty sick," Vito said.

"Certainement," the officer seconded. "Zat is where my partner is at zis moment."

"I was going to ask you," Ted said.

"Yes, he is doing one final search for forensic evidence before handing ze case over to Interpol. I'm afraid zis case touched a chord wis Officer Norton. He spent a good deal of time on it, and he does not want to hand it off, now zat we found out, well, ze real activities of ze Sakkars. In any case," the officer checked his watch, "Interpol will be zere at any moment, and I am afraid it is zeir problem now. Since ze case has gone international, it is out of our jurisdiction. Besides, our little town is not equipped to handle such international intrigue."

Ted inquired, "So what happens now?"

"Well, since ze Sakkars most likely have gone into deep hiding-"

Vito interjected, "Deep, deep hidin'."

"Precisely, zey likely will be put on some international most-wanted list." He waved his hand casually. "Zere will be a tip line or two, occasional reported sightings, etcetera,

etcetera. However, as zere are literally sousands of zese, 'ow do you say, freakos conducting zeir twisted business, I am afraid ze Sakkars may never be found."

Vito's ever-gladdening face beamed even brighter at the sound of it.

"No," the officer continued, "now, I am afraid we have anuzzer case on our hands. A shooting." He reached into his breast pocket and dropped something onto the table. "Do eizer of you recognize zis?"

Ted's brows squeezed together, as he leaned in closer to the object. He lifted the chain in front of his eyes and turned the charm over. "_To CAW From GOD."_ Peg's … no, Caroline's necklace. "Where did you find this?"

"On a body in ze river."

Looking harder at it, Ted rolled the medallion through his yearning fingers. "_This was hers. She wore it around her beautiful silky neck." _He smiled, imagining that neck. He evaluated current, and past, circumstances._ "Wait. How the hell … they found this on a body in the river?" _Ted turned it all over in his head. He recalled Dahlia's question to Caroline. "_What'd you do wiv Peg's body?" _He remembered Caroline's answer. "_Same thing we did with the others."_

Same thing they did with the others? "_The Thakkars? Of course, the Thakkars, Ted. Those were the only other bodies!" _Ted scratched his head and pondered it deeper._ "But … but … the Sweeney Todd record? The Dawna and Jackson pies? All those cooling meat pies?"_

Ted gave Vito, whose expression now showed sheer delight, a look of extreme confusion_. _He dangled the chain back and forth before his eyes.

_"If this is Caroline's necklace, and it was on Peg's dead body, and Vito and Caroline made ... made-" _he swallowed hard,_ "made pies out of the Thakkars and Peg, then how did Eliza Doolittle over here get it?" _

Not hearing a word either gentleman was mouthing to him, Ted's oblivious head cycled Officer Pygmallon's words over and over. "_On a body in ze river. A body in ze river." _He stared again at Vito, whose giant grin was becoming gianter._ "Hold the damned phone! Caroline and Vito! They never … meat pies … they never made meat pies out of those bodies after all!"_

At the sudden realization that his wife and best pal had dumped all those evil bodies in the river, Ted tossed back his head, releasing a roaring laugh that nearly shook the plaster off the freshly rebuilt walls.

"Are you … all right, Monsieur Morrison?"

"Am I all right? Am I … hell, I am fantastic!" The other men sat and waited, as Ted's laughter lasted for what seemed minutes, finally trailing off and ceasing. He chuckled a few more times, then cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. You … you were saying, officer," he said, with as stern a face as he could coerce.

"Oui, as I was saying." Officer P. stopped, thought for a moment, then continued. "Zis has to do wis Harrison Marr's

fourth murder victim. Of course, he can't be tried now zat-"

"Yeah," Ted happily interrupted. "We heard the good news. The old man choked to death in prison, huh?"

Vito said, "Like my pop always says, good riddance to bad rubbish."

"Indeed, monsieur. However, naturally we still need to proceed. We have been dragging ze river to locate ze fourth victim." At that, Ted noted Vito's expression change again, sweat now dripping from his vast forehead. "We had to stop for ze winter due to ze river freezing over, of course. But now zat ze spring has arrived and ze river has sawed-"

"Sawed?" Vito said.

"Oui, er, yes, er," Officer P. pursed his lips forward and placed his tongue under his teeth, "thawed-"

"Oui, er, yes," Vito said.

The officer nodded at Vito's clarity. "We have picked up ze search again. And, I am afraid, in ze process, we discovered anuzzer body. A woman. Quite unidentifiable, I assure you. However, around her neck was zis chain."

Vito probed, "But, uh, yous aint … aint found … it was just dat one body, den?"

"Oui, just one. Wait, why do you ask such a question?"

At the officer's suspicious tone, Vito blurted, "Uh, I just wondered about-"

"I see. Ze final victim in ze Marr case." Vito's head shook hard. "No. Not yet. But my partner suggested zat I ask ze two of you if you recognize zis necklace."

Ted rolled his eyes and sighed. "Right. Because of my prison record."

"No. Well, not totally," the officer informed. He slipped his hand again into his breast pocket, this time retrieving papers. "We sought perhaps it belonged to your wife."

"But Caroline … the car … the … the mountain-"

"No, er, yes, I understand," the officer stammered. "We know about your wife's … accident. Ze sing is, in our investigation, we located a police report from several years back. A necklace exactly like zis one. Same markings and everysing." He read from the report, "From a Caroline Anastazia Willabelle Barker Dougherty."

Ted's and Vito's eyes peered sideways at each other, both smirking and mouthing, 'Willabelle?'

"We sought perhaps you might know somesing about how it was stolen. Perhaps she mentioned it? It is, you understand, ze only lead we have in identifying ze woman in ze river."

Ted thought hard about how to answer the question. "_They have to identify Peg's body. Her family needs to know. But if I say I know, then-"_

"Uh," Vito interrupted, seeing the dilemma on his buddy's face. He nudged Ted's elbow and cleared his throat. "I remember. Carr told me about dat necklace. She said she suspected her ex, Jerry, stole it and give it to his goilfriend, Peg."

The officer checked his notes, as his head affirmed. "Oui. One Margaret Vitelli." He clicked his pen and returned the notepad to his pocket. "Sank you, Monsieur Socrates. Zat is exactly what we sought may 'ave 'appened. So, now we have somesing to go on. Mitochondrial DNA." He stood and looked around the shop. "So, you are hard at work here, no? Knocking out walls, you bought more property. Very nice, much bigger now. So, what exactly are you doing wis ze place? What will you be serving, same as before?"

Ted said, "We're not exactly sure yet."

Officer Pygmallon motioned to freshly thawed meat pies. "Zese look quite delicious. Do you-"

"Uh," Ted jumped in, "no more meat pies, probably. We're, um, phasing out some of the old ways of doing things."

"Mmmm," the policeman considered, "I dunno. Sometimes I sink ze old ways are ze best ways, no?" He squinted his eyes and smiled. "And now, I would love to take you up on your offer, if zat is okay."

Ted thought. "Oh yes. Coffee?"

"Er, pastry, if you don't mind."

"Yes, of course." Ted pointed a quick finger at the officer and grinned. "If memory serves, you're a Napoleon kinda guy, eh?"

"Your memory serves you well, monsieur!" the officer laughed, as a giant, hungry smile overtook his face.

Ted threw his arm on Vito's giant shoulder. "Well, you're in luck. I'm having a dinner party tonight, and our little Veet here just made some fresh. He's gotten to be quite the pastry chef. Be right back."

With much relief now knowing his beautiful departed wife wasn't, after all, capable of the horrible things he'd suspected, Ted felt a weight lift that put just a little more spring in his step. He pushed open the kitchen's swinging door. As he briskly stepped past it toward the cooling pastries, the swift breeze floated Caroline's denim shirt off the door's hook to the floor. He picked it up, thinking how nice it was to remember her now without the pain of his suspicions.

He held the shirt to his face and breathed in her scent. "_Miss you, Beautiful."_ He clutched it tighter, moving his hands over it as if she were in it, trying to feel her there in the shop with him again.

"_What's this?" _He clutched the shirt at one end and shook. "_What's in her pocket?"_ As he pulled out the object, his disgust instantly transported him to the recent past.

Three adults and one child. "_Tim_." It was one of the photos they'd found at the Thakkars. The top image—the one he could never un-see. He turned away from it, recalling the day. "_Of course. I remember now."_ Caroline had taken the photo from him and stuffed it in her pocket.

But wait._ "Three adults._ _Three_." He forced himself to look again. Dawna Thakkar. Jackson Thakkar. And one more face. It was a face he knew well. A face he'dgrown accustomed to_._

Officer Norton.

_107_

Ted handed the warm Napoleon to Officer P. and glanced over at the meat pies. Vito's eyes followed Ted's. "Good idea, bossman. Think I'll have one, too." He took a pie for himself and handed one to his new partner. "You aint had one yet, huh?"

Ted chuckled. "Nope. Haven't had a one."

"You don't know what you been missin', Teddy boy."

"Vito, my good friend," Ted assured, "thankfully, now I do know what I've been missing."

As Ted accepted the pie, he couldn't help but think back on the events of the past year or so. Meeting, then losing, his beautiful Caroline. Chip's revelation to him of the Thakkars' evil deeds. That phone call. The Fourth-of-July picnic. The meat pies and his crazy notions. "_That damned Sweeney Todd record_." And, now, Officer Norton. "_Will the real 'Officer Pig' please stand up?" _

Vito's words erupted in Ted's head. _"Like my pop always says, you can't make meat pies without butchering a few beasts." _

Looking now at the third child molester's law-enforcement partner, a trace of a wry smile befell Ted's face. "You know, Officer Puh-mal-yoh, you may be right after all." He raised the pie high, and the others joined in the toast with their pastries. "Sometimes the old ways of doing things really are the best ways."

_108_

"Died and gone to heaven, I tell ya." As Vito bent down to receive the kiss Betsy had for him, his hand slipped.

"Hey!" Ted called down. "You're supposed to be keeping the ladder steady, Veet, not making out with your goilfriend!"

"Sorry, boss," Vito looked back at the others. "Oops. He's mad."

Ted chuckled and shouted down, "Just tell me how it looks, okay?"

Mikey called up, "Little more to the right, son."

As Betsy, Benno, Dahlia, Riley, and Tommy Ray all seconded, Vito moved the ladder and Ted readjusted his work. They all stood back to view the shop's brand new sign**:**

JUST DESSERTS

*The End*


End file.
